


Cheshire Cats and Elephant Bees

by Cinnamonbookworm



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Childhood Friends, Chloé redemption arc, F/F, Gen, Identity Reveal, Post-Season/Series 01, kind of, ladrien is a thing, lila is not volpina, not miraculous holder volpina, queen bee story, reconnection, well she is but like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamonbookworm/pseuds/Cinnamonbookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Chat Noir first shows up at her house about two days into summer.</i><br/>Or: Old friends reconnect. People break and come back together. There's a fox in the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nobody Ever Saw Bees A Mile Off

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, where to begin with this?  
> I started writing this before Volpina aired, and had a whole idea for the direction this was going to take before that. With the addition of Lila, some things had to be changed, so both Lila-Volpina and Miraculous-Holder-Volpina are going to exist in this fic and I promise it won't be too messy.  
> This IS scheduled to be multichapter (and I've written and outlined most of it so it looks like it will be finished!) so be ready for that.  
> Also - I don't think Chloe specifically _needs_ to be redeemed, or that she needs to dramatically change anything in order to "deserve" a miraculous. This is more about Chloe accepting the changes in her life and growing from that acceptance.

_Why, what are those creatures, making honey down there? They can’t be bees — nobody ever saw bees a mile off, you know.”_

-Alice, _Alice in Wonderland,_ Lewis Carroll

*.*.*

Chat Noir first shows up at her house about two days into summer.

Apparently, according to him, they’ve done the calculations, and she’s the most likely target for the next akuma attack. He mumbles something about having extra time to patrol now that school is out.

 _Funny._ Chloe thinks, sizing him up as he crouches on the carpet of her Presidential Suite. _Hadn’t Alya proven they weren’t in high school months ago?_

Alya’s allowed to be wrong, though. God knows she’s been wrong before. Alya’s bad at math. She can be bad at this too.

Chat Noir likes to hang out in the corners of her room, patrolling the sides of it with his leather-gloved hands behind his back. Sometimes he whistles. Chloe doesn’t like the whistling. 

“Where’s Ladybug?” she asks him, but she already knows the answer. Ladybug probably couldn’t be bothered. Chloe’s not important enough. Even after all of this. Chloe’s made of the same slightly stiff paper as the magazines that sit in a stack in the corner of her room; glossy and beautiful but not quite strong enough. Ladybug’s made of the same kind of marble that holds up this hotel and makes this room feel too cold. Of course she’s not worth her time.

Chat opens his mouth to speak, but she decides she doesn’t want the answer. “Nevermind, I don’t care. Obviously she has more important things to do.”

When he doesn’t respond, she decides she’s right. 

There are a lot of arguments that she doesn’t let go past that point, a lot of things she refuses to figure out in her head, because once something gets in there, it sticks. Just like bubblegum on a seat at school. Just like lip gloss in free-flowing hair.

Just like the idea that when people aren’t there it’s because they don’t love her as much as she loves them. 

At this point, she’s considering just asking him to leave, but she hasn’t really talked to anyone other than her father and the maids (if yelling at them counts) because even Sabrina’s not here for the summer. It’s a lot easier to convince herself she’s not going crazy when there’s someone besides her reflection to vent to.

Chloe lets Chat stay. Or, at the very least, she doesn’t shoo him away. He waits with her for a few nights every week for an hour or so, and then his ring starts beeping and he flies off. He mentions cheese.

She would just ring a bell and have some brought up, but she doesn’t really see the point.

*.*.*

“What’s this?” he asks, gold hair wild and green eyes wide with curiosity.

Chloe lays on her bed, stares at her fan, and glances at the art out of the corner of her eye.

There are two portraits of two women who both disappeared within a year of each other and they hang parallel across the street, roughly reflections but not quite. One is inspired by Gustav Klimt’s Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I. The other by a different one of his portraits—

the Portrait of Eugenia Primavesi.

Needless to say, there’s a very good reason neither Chloe nor Adrien ever got really into art and art history. It’s hard to appreciate the beauty of something that is a constant reminder of the amount of tragedy you had to become familiar with for it to exist.

Chat Noir stands in front of it on a warm night in July. Chloe wonders if there’s something special about his superhero suit that keeps him from overheating when she’s sweating beyond the point of being able to pull it off as _glistening._ She should be cool; she’s wearing those yellow rayon shorts and that white crop top. She might as well be dying.

Chat’s eyes are glued to the painting. Chloe’s not sure if she’s okay with the amount of time he’s spending in front of it since he could at least _pretend_ to actually be here to keep her safe. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

It’s not pretty. There are so many more beautiful things around the room. Things like the dress she had custom-made for that wedding last year. Things like her signed copy of XY’s album. Things like the only other art in the room - a drawing of Ladybug she had commissioned last fall.

“She’s my mother. See the resemblance? Everyone says I look just like her. Only better.”

Chat jumps a bit. “She’s very beautiful. I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Don’t be,” Chloe says, trying as hard as she can not to get sucked into that _grief_ conversation everyone always wants to have. “She’s been gone for years.”

“Acapulco, right?” he asks.

Chloe’s breath catches, her back arching a bit on her grey silk sheets in the static motion of the act. His words are quiet and she almost mishears them… almost. She’s almost too caught up in the rotation of her ceiling fan and the white noise in her ear like someone forgot to turn off that old television they used to keep back when she lived in a house not a hotel and with a mother not a butler.

That’s not true, they had a butler back then too.

 _Acapulco._ It’s a faraway place. A real place. One that has only ever been uttered in the same sentence as her mother’s name in one type of conversation, and those conversations are only heard by two people.

Adrien wouldn’t—

He couldn’t—

If he told anyone—

Chat’s blond head quickly turns around to face her, as if he’s realized his mistake. He doesn’t _have_ Adrien’s eyes, per se, since the masked hero has eyes that are fully green, even the whites becoming chartreuse. When he looks at her, though, his eyes get wide like they did the first time she ever mentioned the name of that place. There’s that nearly doe-eyed innocence present in the usually mischievous cat’s eyes. The pure sincerity of a mistake. The fear that comes from a slip of the mouth.

Chloe sits up slowly, eyebrows knit. Her breathing is shallow and her mouth is parted. She wonders if she looks hurt. She wonders if he’s the first person to see her really look hurt like this since that day that _Acapulco_ first came out of her mouth. She wonders if maybe, eventually, _Acapulco_ is going to do this to her too—make her finally go so far off the edge that she feels the need to roam the streets in costume just to feel something again.

(If she’s really being fair, though, they probably went their separate ways a long time ago since she already pretty much feels nothing on the inside.)

Chloe doesn’t say, _You didn’t tell me and I’m hurting._ Chloe doesn’t say, _How many other people have you accidentally let that word slip to?_ Chloe doesn’t say, _What happened to us, Adrien; we used to be so close and now you feel a million light years and a mask away?_

Chloe says, “Your hair is terrible.”

It’s true. It looks like he just ran a mile through high winds and crashed into a pigeon’s nest. It looks like a perm gone bad. It looks like someone piled a thousand banana peels on his head and called it hair.

If anyone were to ask Chloe why she didn’t know the person she’s considered her best friend for most of her life seemed unrecognizable to her with only some black leather and a mask separating them, she would swear on her sapphire heels that it’s because of that hair.

Chat Noir tilts his head to the side and blinks at her in confusion. He looks like a cat. She supposes that might be the point. “I’m sorry.” He’s stammering over his words, like she’s brandishing some sort of weapon at him instead of looking at him through heavy lidded eyes while the white noise that’s the musical soundtrack to her isolation plays in the background of her mind. “I shouldn’t have brought her up.” Ha. He thinks the reason her eyes have glazed over is because of her mother. That’s a good one. “It’s okay,” she manages, somehow not putting _Adrien_ at the end. She lays back down on her bed and stares at the fan again. Its circular motion reminds her of sleeping but not quite. Like a record playing and no sound coming out. “It’s not like I actually remember her.”

_It’s okay, Adrien._

_It’s not like we’re really friends anymore anyways._

That could be why the sound of _Acapulco_ hurts her so much, though. It’s both a reminder that they used to be close, bonded tight together by tragedy, and a reminder of said tragedy.

It’s a lot easier for a four year old girl to tell herself that when her mother goes missing it’s not because she’s dead it’s because she’s somewhere far away instead. It’s a lot easier on a four year old girl when the cops are in the other room being told by her father that she got into that taxi and they never saw her again to think of somewhere warm and sunny and far away from here.

So, when she’s crying in her mother’s abandoned study, not paying attention to her play date, and he comes over and pulls her out from under the desk and brings her to a globe, she points to a place on the map and tries her hardest to read it out loud.

She mispronounces it for the first three years.

_Acapulco._

The same word that lets her know that that little boy isn’t so little anymore and also isn’t her friend anymore, but must still feel some sort of pity towards her because he shows up three times a week to patrol her room and make small talk, which is pretty ridiculous because it’s not like she’s really been leaving the hotel anyway.

Neither of them really say a word for the rest of the evening.

When he goes to dive off her balcony later that night, she contemplates calling out to him, but she doesn’t. She can’t even think of anything to say.


	2. A Regular Bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Chloe voice* Lila, there will _always_ be women in spandex flirting with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be up on Saturday, but I was traveling so we're doing Wednesday instead. I'm glad so many of you liked the last installment, and hopefully you'll like this one too.

_For some time she stood silent, watching one of them that was bustling about among the flowers, poking its proboscis into them, ‘just as if it was a regular bee,’ thought Alice._

- _Alice In Wonderland_ , Lewis Carroll

*.*.*

Her father drags her to a party every now and then. It’s one of the few things he ever actually makes her do: school, parties, that occasional play date with Adrien.

From what she gathers, it’s a father-daughter thing. Some brunch in a garden where she has to wear a dress. Not that she really minds the dress part; she’s had this yellow knee-length one for months now and no place to wear it to.

She was considering tossing it out the window the other day. Now she doesn’t have to.

Chloe’s not quite sure exactly what terrible gentlemen’s club this brunch is for, but she goes anyway, and smiles anyway and sits anyway because that’s what she’s supposed to do at this sort of thing.

They’re all supposed to. They’re all that same breed of girl, made of that same hard plastic that lines the minimalistic chairs in the hall. Or the balloons some good-intentioned party planner placed around the perimeter of the patio. If she threw a fork at them they’d pop. Just like that. One more pretty thing gone wrong.

While the fathers eat and the girls pick at their food with a fork, looking to each other for a clue of what’s socially acceptable in this newly-formed circle, Chloe looks to find someone to suffer through this with. Normally, she’d be reluctant to even make eye contact with another girl at one of these things, since she’s very adamant about the fact that she doesn’t _need_ anyone. Her only company for a week has been Chat Noir, though, and she still doesn’t _need_ anyone, but wanting to talk to someone doesn’t count. It doesn’t.

Chloe doesn’t find another girl. What she does find, however, are the hazel eyes of Lila. Hazel eyes and that little smirk of her thin lips.

She doesn’t speak to her. Not at the table, at least. Everything she wants to say she’s had the chance to say already, and she hasn’t taken it. 

That was _before_ she noticed the faux fur jacket she’s draped across the back of her chair and the whole _Volpina_ thing had clicked.

Not many of their classmates actually _know_ that Lila was Volpina. The few of them who care deeply about the comings and goings of Paris’ heroes, however—Nathanael and Alya—they probably knew.

Nathanael hadn’t told anyone. Volpina had made an appearance in his doodles, but if he ever _did_ say something and Chloe was around to hear it, she figures he’d spend that time on a much more interesting subject than Lila’s lies. 

And, Chloe finds, scrolling through her phone, Alya had alluded to it on her blog. Not much more than a sentence about new people in town, not much more than a mention in the introduction about people not being what they seem, but it makes sense. When put together with what she knows, with what she can no longer avoid about her classmates and identities and the way a mask can make a young face look old…

She doubts anyone else has pieced it together.

At least, as long as she’s the only one regularly having to watch her childhood friend strut around her room and not attack his hair with a brush or water or _something_.

So Chloe doesn’t say anything. She keeps it quiet all brunch long. And then, at the end, when she goes to the bathroom, she doesn’t intend on saying anything about it ever. Just another one of those things she can throw out the window with today’s pumps and forget about.

Except she can’t. Because Lila’s touching up her makeup in the mirror when Chloe comes out to wash her hands and something snaps.

Not quite an _Acapulco_ snap, butsome other type of snap. More of a Target knock off to that designer handbag _snap_ than the _snap_ her mother’s leaving left waiting inside of her.

Later she won’t remember who spoke first. It’s a mess of jabs and pokes and insults that they’re both a little too good at that finally culminates in the reveal that Chloe knows.

_“WELL_ —”she yells, shrill voice echoing on the marble tiles. “AT LEAST _I’M_ NOT A FAILED TARGET-BRAND LADYBUG.”

Lila barely even flinches. Something flickers in her brown eyes, but it’s only for a moment and then she’s right back to where she was before Chloe had even said anything. Lila laughs. “Isn’t that a bit hypocritical coming from you, _Antibug_? At least _I’m_ not blind and helplessly pining. Never thought a girl in spandex would be your one weakness, Bourgeois. Especially since she’s _not_ much of a hero.”

“I—I don’t—She’s _not_ —” Chloe sputters. Lila’s backed her into a corner. The skin on her back tickles on the cold tile through her dress.

“She’s a _fraud._ ”

“She’s a _hero_.”

“Maybe a _target-brand_ hero. I defeated her in _seconds_. If _I_ had the real fox pendant… The things I could do…” Lila trails off, and Chloe doesn’t like the look in her eyes. She _hates_ her. She hates her more than she’s ever hated anyone. She hates her for the spandex comment and for trying to dethrone Ladybug and for…

She hates her for letting her think she was going to lose Adrien. She remembers staring at the TV screen, looking at the akuma footage, and knowing she couldn’t have done anything to help.

She hates feeling that powerless when it comes to losing people she loves.

“Oh please,” Chloe says, “Like you’re ever going to get a chance at power again.”

“If I’m not then you’re definitely not, Bourgeois,” Lila says. “You see, we’re the same, you and I. _Everyone_ hates us—and don’t pretend they don’t, because somewhere, deep down inside that blonde head, you know it’s true.”

“That’s not true, that’s—” _It’s true. It’s true. She can’t let Lila be right but it’s true._

“The only difference is, Chloe,” Lila continues in a whisper, finally taking a step back. “I’m well on my way to becoming a hero, and you… you’re just a regular person, even if you think you’re queen bee. That’s probably why no one wants to be around you. Adrien… Sabrina… even your mother. At least _I_ know how to keep people around.”

When she leaves, Chloe brings out her makeup bag and blots her eyes to keep her eyeliner from dripping down her face.

*.*.*

Kitty claws scamper their way up the side of the hotel at around midnight. Chloe throws a pillow over her head.

“Go away, Chat.”

“Ah, come on, Chlo… Chloe; you don’t have to be that way. Say hi to an old friend.”

“We’re not friends.”

There’s so much they’re both doing to keep this up. She knows that. His stumble over her name, the bitter sound of her voice when the fact had finally come out that they _weren’t_ friends. Not anymore.

“You’re just a guy who hangs around and sometimes makes me laugh.”

Adrien—no, Chat—smiles and then does a little bow. “That’s what I’m here for.” He doesn’t seem hurt by her statement. She wishes he was. She wishes he’d hurt and scream and yell at her and LEAVE HER ALONE because _they’re not friends_. Lila was right; Chloe doesn’t really _have_ friends. Not anymore. And these random visits aren’t helping her with this.

She wants to wallow in it. Wallow in it enough so that maybe whatever broken part of her made this happen will fix itself. She’s waiting for that fuse to run out and for her to detonate.

“You look like you could use some of those smiles today,” Chat says, jumping off the railing of her balcony where he’d been perched. 

When he smiles like this he looks like the Cheshire Cat. Adrien smiles like the only happy he knows how to feel is plastic; Chat Noir smiles like happiness is a currency and he’s the richest man in the world. Chloe only knows how to feel the first kind of smile. She wonders, if she had an alter ego like he does—a free one—if she could learn how to smile the second way too.

It’s a frivolous thought, though. Like she’d ever be worthy enough to be a superhero. _Ha._

“It’s nothing,” Chloe brushes him off but he pounces on the carpet next to her bed anyways. “You don’t need to be here. I have it under control.” “You’re staring at your fan again.”

“So?”

“So you always do that when something’s wrong.”

That makes Chloe sit up. She watches him carefully because he has to have been watching her carefully, and she doesn’t understand _why._

He shouldn’t care. She’s been terrible to all his friends, desperate and clingy and sometimes even probably unenjoyable to have around. In her defense, usually she was terrified of losing the only real friend she’s ever had to people who hate her. He should hate her.

And yet… He doesn’t. For some reason he’s here and for some reason he can tell when she’s upset and for some reason she wants to tell him everything Lila said and all the ways it stuck a knife into her guts and twisted but—

“We’re not friends, Chat Noir.”

“I know.” There’s that smile again. “But everyone need someone to talk to.”

She can hear Adrien bleeding out of every word, in the honesty and earnestness with which he says it. _Everyone needs someone to talk to_. As if she hadn’t left him alone in his silence. As if she hadn’t begged him to _talk about anything other than our missing mothers, please Adrien, can’t we just go to XY’s concert, please?_

His loneliness made him kind; hers just made her cruel.

No, that’s not quite right; he was always kind but she wasn’t always like this. She wasn’t always so alone.

Chloe groans. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but it’s stupid, I promise. You’re wasting your time with me. Isn’t there a city to save or something?”

“Nope. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I just… I had to go to this totally _lame_ thing today and _Lila_ was there—you’d remember her; she’s the one who pretended to be that superhero, Volpina. As if she’s even _worthy_ of fighting beside Ladybug. Anyways, I told her that and she told me we’re the same type of people and at least _she’s_ trying to change or some nonsense like that and that there’s really no hope for me to get fixed as a person and that _that’s_ the reason Sabrina left and Adrien left and my mother… I don’t even know how she knew about that, but she did. Or maybe she was lying. She’s a liar. But you knew that already. So that’s why I’m staring at my fan, Chat Noir. I’m trying to fix myself before anyone else leaves.”

It’s a spiral of a statement. She can almost hear the _Acapulco_ in her bending in whatever hurricane she’s letting fester. Maybe it’ll break. Maybe that’s what would fix her. 

Chat Noir finally shuts up after she’s done. She goes back to staring at her ceiling fan in peace. 

If she didn’t know what she knows she’d be smug, but really she’s just worried that she’s just guilted him into staying by dropping his name in there. That was a bad idea; she should’ve just made him leave.

Finally he breaks her carefully cultivated silence. “How did you know she was Volpina?”

“People’s faces don’t change just because they put on a mask and some cheap furs.”

Chat blinks at her, green eyes wide in shock. “Does that mean…? Do you know who _I_ am?”

_Yes._ “No. What do I care about the identity of a pesky cat? Besides, Lila’s my _nemesis_ ; if I became Antibug when I was akumatized of course she’d want to be a quote unquote ‘better’ hero.”

“So you hatred of her… revealed her identity?”

“Maybe.”

If only it had been that easy. She doesn’t tell him she only realized it today at the tea when Lila came strutting in in obviously fake furs—not that Chloe’s generally a fur person, but she knows her way around designer fashion. Adrien’s Chat Noir-ness had been on her mind and it had all just clicked. Better to let him think her rage contains magic. Better to not let him realize how totally and profoundly powerless she is.

“Not that I really care who _you_ are,” she adds, for good measure.

“Well,” Chat says, eyes returning to that wide-eyed Adrien shape. “ _I_ don’t think you need to fix yourself.”

Chloe groans and pulls her hands over her face. _Of course_ that’s what he’d focus on. The weak part. Or maybe that’s the good part. She can’t really tell anymore. Hence the need for fixing.

“Well thank you for your opinion, Dr. Noir. I’m going to continue this fan treatment now. Save your pity for the next akuma victim.”

He doesn’t answer her for so long that finally she sits up again. Usually he’s so talkative when he’s Chat Noir. At least, he has been this past week. She’s so used to the chatter that the silence around her feels on the edge of suffocating.

She sits up again and swings her legs around the bed to get a look at him. He’s sitting on her carpet still, legs criss-cross applesauce like they’re both still four years old. He’s looking at the ground.

“I thought _I_ was supposed to be the sad one today.”

He doesn’t even look up at her. It’s such an incredibly _Adrien_ look (especially the Adrien that she was left with after that summer when loneliness decided to become in-fashion) that, if she didn’t know already, it would be a dead giveaway just who he is.

“I’m sure Adrien didn’t mean to leave you. I’ve talked to him, you know. He’s… he has good intentions, Chloe. Sometimes things just happen.”

She hurt him. She didn’t mean to do that. Or maybe she did. That’s what she’d wanted, after all, right? To hurt him so he’d go away and leave her alone so she could break her bones and rearrange them in peace. Except, now that he really _is_ hurting, she wishes she hadn’t.

“Well he could try a little harder. It’s not my fault. _I’m_ not the one who betrayed my childhood friend.”

She can’t stop, can she?

Chat Noir slinks out quietly. Chloe stares at her ceiling fan.

An hour later she gets a text from Adrien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that was it. What do you guys think? Chloe and Adrien seem to be mending things... although there is that little secret identity matter. Will Chloe realize change requires action? Will Adrien finally have something to do at night? Will I ever figure out the timeline for this fic?  
> Stay tuned, I guess.


	3. Every Golden Scale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe walks the line. She struts it in Prada heels and does a pose at the end for dramatic effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because it's ladrien june, i couldn't NOT put some of them in here and... well... it just kind of spiraled from here. here's where the whole volpina/not-volpina thing really begins, so just leave a comment if you're confused :)

_How doth the little busy Bee / Improve each shining Hour, / And gather Honey all the day / From every opening Flower!_

- _How Doth the Little Bee,_ Isaac Watt

_How doth the little crocodile / Improve [her] shining tail, / And pour the waters of the Nile / On every golden scale!_

_-How Doth the Little Crocodile,_ Lewis Carroll

He’s supposed to be her date to this party.

Well not _date_ date. She’d given up on that idea about three months ago. Still, usually this was how it worked. Neither of them really knew anyone else at these parties, so they’d sit together.

Chloe would rant about people. Adrien would smile and nod and sometimes go play the piano. They made a pretty good pair.

And they would be making a pretty good pair (and a very _pretty_ pair) right now except she can’t find him. She looked up one moment during dinner and his seat was vacant. No note no text no nothing. Second course he was there and third course he was gone.

“Like mother like son,” Chloe mumbles.

She doesn’t mean it, she really doesn’t. She doesn’t mean to equate Adrien with the mother whose disappearance has caused him so much pain but he _knows_ she has all the same scars he does from that year. Or, at least, he used to know.

They used to be mirrored images of each other, before they got older and her hair got longer and he got taller and the whole concept of _growing up_ really hit the both of them. Same scars, same short blond cut (although, hers was always more neatly groomed). 

She supposes he’s gotten more scars now that he’s been Chat Noir for a while now.

Maybe he’s forgotten about the ones they used to share.

It’s funny, she thinks. Everything seemed like it was changing finally. The visits and the text and that comment about the fan. It almost seemed like he remembered.

Even like he might’ve cared.

But now he’s gone so Chloe stares out at the rest of the tables, which are full of people who are smiling and talking and everything feels just like it did when school ended. Just lonely. And cold. And plastic.

She hopes he’s having a good time, whatever he’s doing. She hopes the city of Paris was more important than her feelings. Or whatever.

(For the record, she’s still not quite sure where those fall on her scale of importance. She used to know, but now… Now everything’s kind of fuzzy.)

Adrien used to ask her to dance at these things. They were like ten and she used to lead because she was better at the waltz than he was and she would smile and smile and the whole evening would suddenly be worth it.

No one’s dancing tonight.

She can’t be in here anymore.

Chloe’s about halfway down the hallway to the bathroom when she hears a noise coming from around the corner. It’s muffled, but it sounds like a laugh. She’d just ignore it, except she _knows_ that laugh. She also knows exactly the way it sounds when it echoes through this empty marble hallway.

It’s changed a little bit since they were four.

She knows the sight she’s about to see before she sees it. Almost expects it, really. 

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when she peeks around the corner. Only for a second, only for a moment, only for the slightest whoosh of her curled blonde hair, but it’s enough.

Adrien stands, still in his formal wear, forehead pressed against Ladybug’s. They’re smiling and his hair’s gotten messed up and Chloe would be about to _kill him_ if he was with anyone other than _her._

She can’t get mad at him for loving her. Not when it’s so easy. Not when she knows…

Chloe looks again.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go?” Ladybug asks, her voice quiet as she smooths down Adrien’s lapels with her red gloves. 

“Nah,” Adrien smiles, and he looks so much like Chat when his hair is messed up like this. “Chloe loves parties. I doubt she’s even noticed I’m gone.”

_Ha,_ Chloe thinks. _That’s a good one._

“So no important networking or… _anything_ that needs to be done?” she asks. “Nothing I’m keeping you from?”

He looks at her eyes as if she were made of stars. Chloe remembers that about him, at least; he’s always loved stars. “Trust me, I’m not usually the one doing the networking. I bet she’s glad I’m not over there, being quiet, making the conversation boring and everything.”

When Ladybug laughs, she _sounds_ like stars. Or maybe that’s the flute out in the ballroom. “I doubt you could make _anything_ boring.”

Well, he can. Chloe would know, since the party started boring her to death the moment he ditched her, but…

She can forgive him. She can do that. She can—

When they lean in for another kiss, Chloe whips back around the corner.

So it’s fine. It’s fine, it’s totally fine. Everything is fine. They’re _perfect for each other_ , obviously. Perfect for each other and perfect together. Picture perfect and all that. She should’ve taken a picture, really. It probably would’ve gotten a lot of likes on Instagram.

But now she has to find someone else to hang out with.

Normally, when Adrien’s not there, her and Sabrina would roam around together. Chloe would talk. Sabrina would listen. She’s beginning to realize now that that’s probably not the way conversation is supposed to happen but it worked. Now she has no one to trail behind her and listen to her thoughts on the _Adrien and Ladybug_ situation. Just her own mind. And that’s about as nice of a place to be as that one boutique that only sells used clothes.

Just stuff no one wants to see or hear hung up all together, stretching out endlessly.

So, Chloe looks for whatever girl seems to be the star of this party, since it obviously can’t be her anymore because her _date_ is with _Ladybug_ and honestly, she can’t blame him.

Stars don’t accept defeat like that. 

Stars are like that girl over in the corner, the one in the black dress with that silvery necklace. Chloe can’t think of one bad thing to say about her, and she tries for about five minutes before giving up and going over to her.

Her name is Nicola. Her hair’s the same color as caramel. She’s sitting on the white chairs on that ivy-covered balcony. She has excellent taste in shoes. Chloe sits down next to her.

“Bourgeois, right?” she asks.

Chloe plasters on a smile that’s not quite large enough to be overbearing. “Chloe Bourgeois.”

Nicola extends a hand. “Nicola Gallo.”

She’s distinctly Italian, if the name hadn’t tipped her off, the accent that overlays her French would’ve. “How long have you been in Paris?”

“Just since May. I’m really only here for the summer as it stands right now. Then back to the runways of Rome.”

Another model. Just her luck. And also someone who is going to leave her eventually. At least this time she’ll be relatively aware of it. So, when Nicola offers her number, Chloe takes it. Chloe takes it and stares at the contact in her phone and wonders just how much she can squeeze out of the summer.

*.*.*

Chat shows up at her house later that night, possibly because one of the girls at the party had gotten akumatized. Possibly because said akumatization was Chloe-related. That’s not the answer he gives her, though, when she asks.

“There’s a fox in the city,” he says.

“There’s also a cat in my room,” she responds, “so what?”

There’s a thin line she’s been walking ever since she discovered his identity between snarkiness and downright cruelty. He didn’t want her to know, she knows that now. And, no matter what has happened between them in the past few years; no matter the number of opposite sides they’ve been on, he’s still her friend. And she still loves him.

At the same time, she does not love Chat Noir. She wasn’t fond of the cat long before she realized it’s the thing that puts him in danger every day. Chat Noir is brash and loud and reckless and in love with the same hero that she is. Chat Noir is every single part of Adrien that has pushed him away from Chloe since they were younger. He’s the direct result of what their mothers leaving did to him.

So she walks the line. She struts it in Prada heels and does a pose at the end for dramatic effect because she’s terrified to shake the walls or shatter the foundation of whatever friendship he’s attempting to rebuild with her this summer. 

Chat-Noir-who-is-Adrien jumps down from her balcony with a smile wider than she’s used to. Chloe wonders what would happen if he used cataclysm on her carpet. “A new miraculous holder! It’s so incredible!”

The Cheshire Cat, that’s what he looks like when he smiles like this; fading in and out with a smile and a cryptic message. 

She doesn’t know what he wants, or why he’s telling her all this. All she knows is that dull ache in her stomach that comes from not eating quite enough at a party out of reputation’s sake. All she knows is that he’s here, and yet he’s barely even looking at her.

She can barely look at him either.

All this time, all this time she’d thought they were beginning to exist on the same lonely wavelength again but that’s not true. He’s above her. He’s always been above her. Chloe can overlook the city and marvel at everything that’s hers, but Adrien doesn’t need to; he looks at the stars. She’s seen it, him staring at the sky as if everything below, including her, is just a fleeting thought.

His mother was the same way.

And now he has Ladybug too, apparently. Apparently all these late night visits don’t really mean anything at all. And she should’ve figured it out when she figured out his identity, but maybe it’s her fault for never seeing Chat Noir on the same level as Ladybug and Adrien. Maybe it’s her fault for not looking past the surface and realizing it was inevitable that they’d end up together.

Because they’re perfect. And everything else is not.

She’s tired of pretending. Tired of pretending that she actually likes this dress. Tired of pretending these shoes don’t pinch her feet because the designer didn’t listen when she told himshe was an _eight,_ not a _seven._ Tired of pretending that she doesn’t know it’s the guy who used to be her best friend hiding under that mask and all that _horrible_ hair.

But she doesn’t say anything. Some of it might have to do with her having a rule about not crying when she has makeup on.

“You sure it’s not someone akumatized again? You’ve made that mistake before, you know. Adrien almost died.”

“I’m sure!” he responds, almost breathless in his excitement. “Because Hawkmoth has _never_ repeated an akumatization and this girl’s got the _real_ Volpina pendant.”

Ah, yes. Volpina. From the Italian word for fox. Makes sense why he’d told her there was a fox in the city now. She’d thought maybe he’d just seen a dog and got overexcited.

“Good,” Chloe says, “Ladybug would never forgive you if that happened again.”

She doesn’t totally know if that’s true. What she does know is true is that _she_ would never forgive him if he ended up hurt for real this time. She doesn’t have a lot of people left. 

And the people she _does_ have… well, they went over that last week.

“She’s dating him, you know.”

Chat Noir makes a strangled sort of hairball noise.

“They’re… they’re _what_?”

Moments like this, she wishes she didn’t know. She wishes they could bond together over losing the two of them to each other. She wishes he was at least a little bit of a good liar.

Chloe sighs, “He left me all alone at the party to go be with her. I saw it when I went to the bathroom.”

He’s blushing under the mask, she can see a red flush rising on his cheeks, almost to the golden curls of his hair, like some beautiful, terrible sunrise. She pretends she doesn’t notice.

“Guess we’re both stuck in the same boat together now. Water’s filling up, Chat Noir, better abandon ship while we still can.”

If there’s a bitter smile on her lips, she ignores it the same way she’s ignoring whatever things are going on with his face as he tries to piece together what she’s implying—the way a tiny lie has spiraled so far out of control that now it bonds them together.

Chloe’s a far better actor than he is.

She has learned, however, that it’s far easier to lie when you’ve got pink goo holding your pretense of a smile in place. It’s easier to wear a mask when she still hasn’t taken any of it off. She’s got no synthetic fiber stuck to her face, and yet, she’s one hundred percent sure she’s winning at whatever game they’ve started this evening.

Not quite cat and mouse, but something along those lines.

Adrien opens his mouth, possibly to say something, but seems to change his mind, as all that comes out is a forced laugh. His gloved hand moves to scratch the back of his neck, his eyes roving over to that golden portrait of her mother again.

“Not exactly,” he manages.

Chloe moves closer to him then, knowing she can get the answer out of him, she _can._ If she just pushes him hard enough he’ll _have_ to tell her they’re not really friends or allies or _whatever_ because secrets don’t make friends.

_Or maybe,_ she thinks, remembering that kiss in the hallway she’d seen, _secrets make the best of friends._ After all, the only thing different between Ladybug’s mask and her own is that one of them is far easier to take off.

This time, Chloe’s the one to force a laugh. “So she already told you?” He opens his mouth to speak again, but she waves him off. “Or maybe you were there too. Maybe I even saw you. What do you look like in a tux, Chat Noir?”

After all the things she’s said to him tonight, she didn’t think this would be what took effect. His eyes blink rapidly under his mask, as if he’s trying to process whatever she’s implying here quicker. She’s close, so close to him, but it’s nothing like that flicker of a breath between him and Ladybug she saw earlier. It’s just… pressure.

Pressure she knows she shouldn’t be putting on him, since he’s under so much all the time already; a beautiful marble column barely able to shoulder the statue of whatever false god he has to carry all the time.

What she gets as an answer is a nod, a slow one accompanied by a frown. It’s a look that tells her nothing other than he’s so close to breaking. He’s not the one she was trying to break tonight.

The ring on his right hand starts beeping, and the sound pounds on her head. Guilt sounds a lot like a microwave going off.

“I have to go, Chloe,” he whispers and it sounds _so sad_. 

She doesn’t watch him leave, just lies back down and looks at her ceiling fan again.

Chloe wonders where she crossed the line back from loving him the way she used to. There was no electricity in her stomach tonight as she pushed closer towards him, no wanting for whatever it is he has with Ladybug.

All she feels now is a hollowing kind of hurt, almost like hunger, but not quite.

There’s a crack in her ceiling, right next to the fan, and Chloe wonders if, in order to fix it, the entire thing would have to be destroyed first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it turns out i didn't just make up the whole "chloe's got a painting of her mom made of gold the way adrien does" thing bc it's IN A SCREENSHOT!?!? anyway just thought you guys might find it interesting:  
> http://miraculousladybug.wikia.com/wiki/Antibug/Gallery?file=AB_lq_S01_%2871%29.png


	4. How Cheerfully She Seems to Grin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a fox in the city. There's also a new contact in Chloe's phone. Adrien Agreste seems to think they're the same person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so sorry this is so incredibly late. i was going through a brief period of writer's block there. to make up for that, though, here's a little longer of a chapter. also; the beginning of some plot. i guess. if you can call this fic a fic that has plot. a lot of dramatic irony thrown in there as well because i like to be funny.

_How skilfully she builds her Cell! / How neat she spreads the Wax! / And labours hard to store it well / With the sweet Food she makes._

- _How Doth the Little Bee_ , Isaac Watts

_How cheerfully [she] seems to grin, / How neatly spreads [her] claws, / And welcomes little fishes in / With gently smiling jaws!_

_-How Doth the Little Crocodile,_ Lewis Carroll

*.*.*

Nicola texts the way Chloe wishes everyone would text. It’s more refreshing than any of the ten barely-drunk-out-of lemonades Chloe has sitting on the end table next to her.

She should love them; they’re from the recipe she’s considered pretty much perfect since she was a child, but they’re not quite sweet enough to satisfy whatever mood her mouth seems to be in today.

Also no one seems to be listening to her when she’s been saying to add honey instead of sugar.

The socialite she’d met at the party answers quickly and concisely, but not in a way that makes her seem bored. The last thing Chloe wants is to think she’s boring her.

Chloe complains about lack of the perfect lemonade and Nicola sends back the perfect collection of emojis.

**From: coca cola**

**To: chlo b**

> when they figure out the recipe send me one
> 
> i wanna know what ur idea of perfection is b

Chloe’s idea of perfection goes beyond the lemonade. It’s her case of signed XY albums. It’s ten nails all painted the same shade of gold. It’s Ladybug spinning a yo-yo on the top of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of the night and maybe, possibly, looking Chloe’s way and winking and then her waking up in a sweat because some kinds of perfection are just are unachieveable.

The lemonade on the other hand...

**From: chlo b**

**To: coca cola**

> Or u could just come to the hotel
> 
> Try it for urself

Maybe she’s lonely again. It seems to be a side effect of the summer. Chat Noir’s been at her balcony every night since she hurt him, but he hasn’t been saying anything, just keeping an eye out for danger like he initially said he was going to. She misses him.

Maybe that’s why she’d started texting Lila. She was craving conversation again.

**From: coca cola**

**To: chlo b**

> can’t today b. got a gig on the other side of town at 3
> 
> you could come over b4 tho
> 
> i have a need for a new top and ur the only one who can help me
> 
> ur the only one who understands the difference between mauve and lilac

Her entire room is shades of purple. She knows her way between all sorts of purples and yellows. They’re opposite on the color spectrum, but she’s in love with the two of them anyway. They’re the prettiest out of all the opposite pairings. Better than red and green or… _orange and blue._

**From: chlo b**

**To: coca cola**

> The worst kind of travesty
> 
> Who do these people think they are?
> 
> I need to save you from this fashion disaster

**From: coca cola**

**To: chlo b**

> my hero in high heels

**From: chlo b**

**To: coca cola**

> Actually they’re flats today

**From: coca cola**

**To: chlo b**

> doesn’t make you less of a hero
> 
> see you there then?

Nicola still doesn’t really seem to _see_ her, though. That _hero_ comment seems so unfounded. Anyone else who knows Chloe wouldn’t put her as a hero in a billion years. It’s like Lila had said; she’s just a regular person. She’s not anywhere as good as Ladybug or Chat Noir or even whoever the new Volpina is that Adrien had been blabbing about that day.

Chloe still smiles at Nicola’s adamant refusal to call her anything less than a hero, though. She rolls off her bed and slips back on her white flats, sparing one glance for the golden painting of a person she hasn’t seen in forever.

She brushes off the pang she feels when looking at it; this afternoon with Nicola is supposed to be about _forgetting._

*.*.*

Really, the only thing they agree on are the shoes.

Nicola’s a little more … alternative … with her style than Chloe would normally let pass without comment, but—

The thing is, despite the occasional mom jeans and babydoll dresses, Nicola always just looks _good._ She doesn't have to cater to any specific preference or style; she just exists in this constant state of beauty that leaves Chloe speechless. Speechless and flustered and without a negative comment in the world.

Negative comments and banter, however, are not the same thing.

“It’s not _my_ fault you have no concept of style other than yacht-party and socialite-playing-secretary,” Nicola teases, moving her dark hair off her shoulders in one sweeping motion to try and better see the way the collar of this dress looks with her neckline.

“I do _not_ dress like a secretary!” It’s not the first time Nicola’s said this; always teasing, always playful, always in some attempt to get Chloe to try something new. She doesn’t know what she’d call her style—besides _fashionable_ , of course—it’s just what she’s used to. It’s just what she’s always known.

She likes yellow, though. She’s always liked yellow.

“You totally do,” Nicola continues, “but it’s okay; I love you anyways.”

Sometimes Chloe can’t quite draw the line between teasing and truth. Another thing she’s always had trouble with. Sometimes her teasings can cut too deep, sometimes she can’t tell if her sensor of what is okay to say is broken. _Ha_. So many broken pieces and yet that _Acapulco_ part of her still hasn’t snapped yet.

“Of course you do,” Chloe responds, coming over to stand behind Nicola, their reflections a pair in the mirror. “ _Everybody_ loves me.” A beautiful lie for a beautiful girl.

She smoothes down the fabric of the creamy babydoll dress, the one that ends high on her legs. Chloe’s eyes follow every movement of her fingertips—she can’t help it. “I hate to say it, though, Chlo. I just might love this dress more than you.”

“You know, I did not come here to be betrayed by you like this.”

Nicola shrugs, a smirk creeping up on her pink lips. “It’s in my nature. Always got to keep you on your toes, B.”

When Nicola turns her head, Chloe’s not quite sure what she’s thinking. In fact, she may not even be thinking at all because every part of her body is controlled not by thought but by impulse—impulse that she reigns in with all the little pieces of willpower she has left.

She tries to look away, at anything other than her mouth; at her eyes, her hands, that charm necklace she’s wearing that looks oh-so-familiar, but she keeps getting drawn back.

She understands now, the way you can look at something like they’re your _everything._ She understands the way stars float up into Adrien’s eyes every time he so much as glances at Ladybug. It’s all shivers down her spine and a tantalizing wish to just lean over for a second and—

She turns away.

It’s that simple—all it takes for Chloe to regret every thought in her head for the past few seconds. What was she thinking? _What was she thinking?_ And it’s not because of anything Nicola is or did, but because of the sheer limitations on their time together. Chloe’s t’d up a ball that she’s not even going to have time to swing.

A ticking time bomb, that’s what she is. Topped off with a head full of blonde hair. A real bombshell blonde just itching to destroy herself. She can’t let this spiral out of her control, not this time, not this way.

So, really, it’s a good thing Nicola looked away. It _is._ If she can just keep convincing herself of that—

“What has you so spooked?” the girl in question asks, like the moment Chloe’s still ringing from was nothing. She laughs and it dings around Chloe’s empty head, a silver spoon clattering into an empty marble sink. “I can’t look _that bad_ in this, can I?”

“No,” Chloe manages, overcoming the catch in her voice. “You look fine.”

“Just fine?” she asks, and there she is again, one hairflip and she’s looking at her again, brown eyes like those deep vats of chocolate they’d pumped into the fountain at her tenth birthday party.

Chloe takes a step back. Not enough to notice, but enough for her to not completely fall apart on the inside like last time. “You know what I mean.”

“Ah yes,” Nicola says, smiling. “I forgot. On the great scale of your standards, B, fine is equal to ten out of ten, the most divine of divine goddesses. I am the immortal Aphrodite and no one can stop me—”

“Shhhh!” Chloe says, pushing a hand over Nicola’s mouth. “The sales ladies are going to come over here and yell at us again!”

Nicola softly pushes her away. “That was _one time_ , B.”

“One _terrible_ time. Are you going to buy it or not.”

She shrugs her shoulders, caramel curls rising and falling, like a coin toss minus the accompanying decision. Carefree in all the ways Chloe can’t be. “I don’t know. Apparently it’s just _fine_.”

She’s amazing.

*.*.*

Chloe understands that, on a fundamental level, life is about more than first-glance judgements. On a superficial level, however—on a level she actually _acts on_ —it’s more complicated than that.

But she’s the one, out of all the other kids she knows—who’s broken like this. Who has this struggle with perception. Everything’s three dimensional and her 3D glasses are snapped in half and hanging on a wall, encased in gold.

_Adrien’s not supposed to be like this as well._

She certainly doesn’t see it coming. When they run into him six feet from Starbucks, arms linked together with a closeness Chloe is trying not to notice, they smile at each other and suddenly they’re six years old again. Suddenly the sun’s warmth isn’t quite as sharp.

Hazy. Everything is hazy in her memories, like someone put a filter on everything from before. She doubts his smile could really make the flowers grow, but it’s the memory that pops up anyway. Children costumed to look like the royalty they sort of were, gliding on marble tiles without a care in the world.

Everything’s a little sharper now. Shattering rose-tinted glass will do that.

He waves and she waves back, seven feet between them and neither one quite willing to take that step closer. And then he sees Nicola and some part of his smile fades. No, it’s not that. Adrien’s good at not losing his smile; it’s all in his eyes.

Then he steps closer.

“Adrien, Nicola. Nicola, Adrien. I’m assuming you guys have met since she’s walking in your father’s line this summer.” Chloe waves her hand between the two of them, stirring the humid air with a perfectly manicured palm.

“We’ve met,” Adrien assures her.

“Yeah,” Nicola says, “you’re Agreste’s kid, right?”

“Something like that,” Adrien mumbles. Chloe had just mentioned it, but that one phrase is something she knows pushes one of his few buttons. One tap and he closes up. “Hey, can I talk to Chloe alone really quick?”

“Sure,” Nicola replies, “I have a shoot to go to anyways.”

Chloe pretends it doesn’t sting how quickly she was ready to leave her. Drop of a hat. Flick of the wrist. A copper coin spinning in the air and landing before anyone can really notice.

She gives her a quick side-hug and a smile that should promise tomorrow but Chloe can’t quite feel it. It’s possible she can close up after one tap too.

When she walks away, Chloe watches her go. Maybe she stares a little too hard or a little too long. Maybe she’s just not quite willing to enter whatever conversation Adrien’s about to start with her, whatever thing was so important they had to be alone to discuss it.

Minus Chat Noir’s late night visits, they haven’t really talked alone together in years. She has no idea what he could possibly want to say to her, especially after what she’d said that night.

When she turns back, Adrien isn’t looking quite at her. He’s looking almost past her, as if he can’t stare at her too long or he’ll be blinded. Usually, it’s the other way around.

“How well do you know her?” he asks. He sounds so much like Chat Noir right now. She’s not sure if the distance in his voice is because of one of the many things she’s done to separate them or… something else.

“We met at the Yester party. Not that you would know that, of course, because you were off with Ladybug, but it’s okay, I forgive both of you.”

“And she hasn’t… acted strange? Or done anything... Look, Chloe, I’m worried about you.”

She rolls her eyes at that. He hasn’t been _worried about her_ since long before they last talked alone together without any masks between them. Whatever he’s pulling, she’s not about to bite. “Sure you are. Just like _I’m_ worried about _you_. We’re both struck with the deadly disease of being _too_ rich and beautiful. _What are we going to do?_ ”

Adrien’s mouth hardens into a frown. “I’m _serious_ , Chloe. I don’t trust her.”

“Oh no. You do _not_ get to step in now. She is one of the only _good things_ I have right now. And I don’t mean like that thousand dollar cruise daddy bought me kind of _good_. I mean _real_ good.” He doesn't know the scope of what he's interfering with. She’s balancing on top of a wall, like Chat Noir often does but without any superhero reflexes to catch her. If he asks her to look down she doesn’t know if she can make it across.

“She’s _keeping secrets_!”

“So what? Everyone here keeps secrets! No one wants to tell me anything! Even you! All you do is not tell me things!” And there it is, she’s looking down now. She’s looking down at the _mess_ the past year has been, swimming around in the swirling water. She can’t tell what’s a shark and what’s just seaweed and she’s getting very close to screaming now.

But she can’t blow up at him again. Not after last week, she can’t. She has to keep her cool and at least attempt to listen to whatever smoke he’s blowing in her face. He must be blowing smoke, right? That must be why everything makes her head hurt when she tries to look at it closely.

If he’s picked up on what secrets of his she’s referring to, she can’t tell. His face is impossibly hard to read, a mask perfectly designed to keep everything in.

Joke’s on him, though. She knows about his other mask, too.

“Come on,” Adrien says, and he grabs her by the wrist, dragging her into a corner between buildings. Chloe wonders if moving this fast is going to scuff up her flats.

When they reach the brick wall, she leans up against it, drinking from her Starbucks cup. She’s not leaning so much that she gets dirt on her white shorts, but enough so she seems like she doesn’t care.

Maybe the problem here is that she _does_ care _._ She cares so entirely and absolutely what he thinks of her and her choices that the only way to tone it down is to ignore it completely: to ice it off and close it up and shove it somewhere deep within the vaults of her own mind, constantly having to shout to remind herself that she _DOES! NOT! CARE!_

Adrien takes a deep breath, eyes closing on the inhale. She wonders if he’s about to summon a ghost or something. He might as well be for all the sense he’s making.

“I know you’re going to hate me for this, Chloe, and that’s okay, because I deserve it, but you’re not listening to reason. You need to know why I’m worried about you. I have to keep you safe.”

He doesn’t ‘deserve it.’ He doesn’t ‘deserve’ any of the hate she’s directed his direction. He’s just been making choices, making mistakes.

She’s been making them too.

Moments like this, Chloe wants to yell at the sky and ask whatever magical thing is up there that gave him the powers that brought him back into her life this summer to just _give them a break._ They’re just _kids._

Here Adrien is; living out a mid-life crisis thirty years too early. And here she is; two steps away from wherever her mother is—following in her footsteps faster than those tracks were originally laid. So much for being kids.

Adrien doesn’t do anything when he’s done making excuses for whatever it is he’s about to pull. He just looks at her, green eyes wide like he’s waiting for something. Maybe it’s her consent or her approval. Whatever it is, she should probably just nod.

Chloe bobs her head up and down, ponytail pulling on the brick behind her.

He takes another deep breath and looks at the silver ring on his right hand. “Plagg,” he says. “Claws out.”

A slight static sound fills the air and something tiny flies out of his pocket. It looks like a rat. Chloe is _so_ not in the mood for this. She covers her eyes in case there are any more and takes back what she said earlier: if Adrien lets a bunch of rats crawl on her she _will_ hate him forever.

And then, everything is silent. Chloe opens her eyes to find… Chat Noir.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!” she groans, beginning to walk away from him.

“Look, Chloe, I know it’s a shock, and I understand all your concerns, but Ladybug said we _had_ to keep our identities a secret and—”

“You wasted my time for _this?_ ” If her hands fly up in the air, it’s not her fault, it’s his, because this is just a phenomenally useless thing. This is just—

“Wasted your… what?” Adrien grabs her hand again. “Wait! Chloe! There’s more I have to tell you. I know you’re upset with me and that this is a big shock but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’ve known for like… since the beginning of summer.”

“ _WHAT?_ ”

When he’s shocked, his little ears get really pointy. She didn’t notice that before. It’s actually kind of funny. All his expressions are so much more heightened when he’s Chat, like someone flipped his _on_ switch.

“Wait, wait a second,” he says. “Is this like the thing it was with Lila? Do you really hate me that much?”

Now it’s Chloe’s turn to be confused. “What?”

“You said… You said your hatred of her revealed her identity.”

She laughs, a real genuine laugh. She’d forgotten about that. “No. It was—Actually it was _Acapulco_. You mentioned it that first night. I knew you wouldn’t have told anyone so… it had to be you.”

“ _Chloe_ , I—”

And now he sounds sad again. She guesses they have the same switches. Flick ‘cat ears’ for _on_ and _Acapulco_ for _off_ , kids. That’s how you get us to feel things. Of all the girls in the world who want to know what makes Adrien Agreste tick, she’s pretty sure none of them would guess the magic words. She’s also pretty sure, if they did know, they’d take advantage of it. Strange how she’s the one who wouldn’t dare to.

She waves him off. “It’s fine. No big deal, right. Now you know that I know and now you can go away because—”

And that’s when Chloe’s phone starts ringing. Loud and clear. Blondie’s _Call Me_ bursting through the alley with so much force Chloe can’t believe no one else is looking over. It ricochets off the walls and bounces off Adrien’s leather suit. They just stare at each other as the drums and electric guitar echo around them. Chloe decides it’s best to just continue. He wanted to talk to her alone, after all.

“—none of this changes the way I feel about Nicola. There’s nothing you can say that can… Adrien… Why are you staring at me like that?”

He crinkles his eyebrows at her. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“ _Color me your color, baby,_ ” her phone sings, “ _color me your car.”_

“Why?” Chloe asks, placing her hands on her hips. “You wanted to talk to me and now you’re talking to me.”

“ _Color me your color, darling. I know who you are._ ”

“But what if it’s important?”

“It’s just Nicola.”

“It’s _Nicola_?”

“ _What?_ ” Chloe says, defensive. “She set it as my ringtone like three days ago.”

Adrien’s frown starts to turn upwards a little bit. Almost like a smirk. Not quite that Cheshire Cat smile she’s grown used to, but something on the path to there.

“ _What?_ ” Chloe asks again, not quite understanding the reason for his sudden change in mood.

“It’s just… you’re blonde and it’s _Blondie_ and she’s calling you and the song is called _Call Me._ Don’t you think that’s a little on the nose?”

“Whatever you say, _Chat Noir._ ”

“Hey,” Adrien protests. “It’s not _that_ bad of a name.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Chloe counters.

“ _Come up off your color chart. I know where you’re coming from_.” Her phone continues, persistent in it’s attempt at getting her attention. She refuses to take it out of her back pocket.

“Whatever you need to tell me, you can say it with Blondie in the background,” Chloe says. “Nicola knows I’m busy. She can deal with it. I think.”

“See, that’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Adrien says, finally continuing his point from earlier. “You remember the last Volpina, right?”

“Lila,” Chloe says, beginning her list. “The fake. My arch-nemesis. What of it? And what do you mean _last_ Volpina?”

Adrien shrugs his leather-clad shoulders. “It’s like I said last week; there’s a fox in the city.”

“Oh, and you expect me to understand a sentence as vague as that?”

“Well there’s a new Volpina. She’s here and in the city and I don’t know if we can trust her.”

Suddenly it clicks in Chloe’s head, just as the Blondie begins to fade out. She takes a step back, shaking her head, not willing to put up with this steaming pile of poodle crap again. “No. _No._ I’m not listening to whatever theories you have about this. You could be wrong! You could be _dead_ wrong! You could be _Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Ladybug_ wrong.”

“That’s a theory?” Adrien asks, completely missing the point.

“Of course it’s a theory. I’ve been going through _all_ our classmates ever since I found out about you. Can’t have you dating a twenty year old, after all. Besides, does it really matter? You know each other’s identities anyway, don’t you?”

“Um…..” Adrien mumbles. “Not exactly.”

“ _Oh my god,”_ Chloe says. “You _are_ dating a twenty year old.”

“Can we just—Look my love life’s not important right now. What’s important is that Hawkmoth knows about Volpina. He knew her costume and her powers when he akumatized Lila, and it’s not that far of a reach to assume the new Volpina could be as tricky as the old one. I just don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire, Chloe. Despite all we’ve been through… I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Nice to know you care.”

“Am I not allowed to care about you?” Adrien asks, and all the humor from earlier is gone. He sounds angry. Angry and protective, but still angry. Also maybe a little distracted.

“You’re allowed to care about me, Adrien,” Chloe starts. “It’s just… You don’t need to worry about me. She’s a _good person_. A better person than me, at least.”

She takes a deep breath, pausing in the silence and the shadows before letting out the thing that will remind him he’s wasting his time. “If anything, Adrien, you’re warning the wrong girl.”

He gets really quiet after that, and, when she finally walks out of the alley, she doesn’t meet his eyes. Adrien can ponder on whatever giant bomb she just dropped on him alone.

Or with Ladybug. She doesn’t care. Maybe he’ll actually find out who he’s dating. That might be a smart decision.

Chloe’s phone buzzes on the way out. She has three new text messages.

**From: coca cola**

**To: chlo b**

> can we meet up later?
> 
> i have to tell you something
> 
> it’s important


	5. The Bees Will Not Notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EMOTIONAL INTIMACY GIVES ME ANXIETY
> 
> -Chloe Bourgeois

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... we seem to be out of Alice and Wonderland quotes.
> 
> It's been _so long_ i know, but this chapter took me a while and there is a very good reason and that reason is that I'm finally starting my summer homework so that's been taking up some time in my life.
> 
> I love you guys a lot. The response to the last chapter was phenomenal and you are all so amazing. I didn't think anyone would read this fic so every single time someone comments I kind of die a little inside. Hopefully the next update will come sooner than this one.
> 
> -Sim

_“I am nude as a chicken neck, does nobody love me? / … / I am milkweed silk, the bees will not notice. / They will not smell my fear, my fear, my fear.”_

- _The Bee Meeting,_ Sylvia Plath

Chloe sits and stares at her phone for a while, debating responding.

Nicola’s shoot won’t be done for a few more hours, so she has time, but she’s worried it’ll pass too quickly. Chloe knew when this all started that she’d be leaving her; it was just the terms of the engagement, the reason she even tried to get close. She never thought she’d leave her this soon. She never expected it could be because of something she’s done.

Really, though, Chloe should’ve expected it. Something she did must’ve set Nicola off, something must’ve been too far over the edge. She must have hurt her somehow…

The only thing is, she can’t remember doing anything of the sort. Chloe sits on her bed, knees huddled close to her chest, running through their texts as anxiety pulses through her veins, and she doesn’t find anything. There’s not one thing she said that could be misconstrued. No sarcastic comment turned wrong. Nothing even vindictive.

In this past week, Chloe hasn’t lashed out once in an attempt to get her away. She’s just been … happy.

But it has to have been something. Because Nicola wants to talk about something important. And people only want to talk to Chloe about something important when it’s something bad.

_Chloe, we need to talk, it’s important_ is a phrase too-often repeated in her life. The worst part is, it’s never for the right things. It’s never _Chloe we need to talk because I heard another one of your classmates got akumatized and you were involved_ or _Chloe we need to talk about your akumatization_ or _Chloe what you did to that Marinette girl wasn’t okay she did nothing to you._ It’s always just _Chloe, we need to talk about you not living up to your duties. Chloe, we need to talk about your friendship with that Sabrina girl, I think it’s bad for your image. Chloe, why aren’t you exactly what I want you to be?_

The last one’s not quite right, but it might as well be.

Her head tenses up with frustration just thinking about it. She’s been trying so hard this time. She’s been being so good and yet it’s still all falling to pieces.

Chloe throws her phone off her bed and stares at her fan. The blades spin overhead with a severity she’s almost mesmerized by. She can almost lose herself in that steady rhythm. She’s fallen asleep doing this so many nights that she’s lost count. Sabrina used to say she’d look like a doll when she’d do this, all glassy-eyed and still.

Maybe this time she can really turn into one.

Or, at the very least, she can snap and have this whole part of her life be done and over with.

She doesn’t know how long she lays there. What she does know is that one of the blades is a slightly different shade of white from the rest of them and it’s bugging her, and another one has a spot on it and _that’s_ bugging her, and _everything_ is bugging her because _nothing_ was wrong and now _everything_ is wrong because she can’t figure out what she did _wrong_ this time.

When she hears footsteps on her balcony she doesn’t even turn to look.

Adrien can go away. She already had her chat with Chat Noir today, thank you very much. _He’s_ not Ladybug; _he_ can’t fix this. _Ladybug_ can fix everything. Maybe. All she knows is she fixed her and Sabrina and that might have saved her.

All Adrien can do is repeat what he said earlier, and she’s not in the mood for it. If he shows up all she’s going to do is hurt him again. She’s going to lash out at him for things that aren’t his fault and then everything really _will_ be ruined because he can’t place the blame on her not knowing it’s him. She knows all the things that make him tick and she could hurt him really badly because of it.

Chloe wouldn’t, though. She’s trying to be better. She’s trying not to hurt him anymore.

Which is why he should just leave her alone.

Chloe blinks, hard, then rolls over to greet the vigilante, vision blurred from the tears crowding the corners of her eyes. “Go away,” she moans, reaching for her pillow again.

She looks for him, but he’s not there. There’s no boy dressed in leather with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There is, however, an actual black cat.

It looks up at her, ears perked, sitting in the moonlight. Then its shadow starts to grow, stretching out along her lilac wall, up past the wooden decals. It’s a cat and then it’s not, it’s something more. It’s two cats. It’s a cat and a dog. It’s a girl. The shadow splits and swirls from scene to scene, and Chloe can’t help but watch—almost horrified, but still she can’t look away.

The girl is joined by another shadow girl. They’re tiny, almost like dolls. One takes another’s hand and swings her around and then the one being swung turns into a … dog? Chloe can’t tell. It’s all very confusing and there’s probably an akuma in her room and she should really text Adrien for help but she just can’t move.

A chuckle comes from behind her purple curtains. Chloe’s head turns towards it, finally able to break free from the puppet show going on on her wall, and she finds she doesn’t need to call for a hero after all.

Volpina—the new Volpina, the one Adrien thinks might be Nicola—slinks out from behind the dark fabric and the shadows on Chloe’s wall disappear. So does the black cat. She’s smiling, lowering her flute from her mouth. Chloe can’t quite make out her features; they’re covered in shadows so similar to the ones she was just creating.

Her costume’s different from the one she remembers Lila wearing. The most notable difference being that her boots are now up to her thighs and stark white, the same color as the end of her fluffy belt. It’s a better replication of a tail than Chat Noir’s leather belt, at the very least. 

White and tangerine swirling together on soft, invincible fabric. Like ice cream. It almost reminds her of ice cream.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she says, in a voice Chloe can’t quite tell if she recognizes or not. “No black cats coming by tonight.”

The fox takes two steps towards her, feet soft on Chloe’s carpet despite the hard grooves on the bottom of her boots. She stops at Chloe’s frown and pulls her flute back up to her mouth again. “But, if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

Three notes and she’s Chat Noir. Not quite exact but a close enough approximation of him to give Chloe chills. She scoots back on her bed a little bit. “No, no. You’ll do. For now. You can,” she waves her hand in the general direction of Volpina’s face, “stop that _thing._ ”

Volpina’s Chat Noir shrugs and the fox herself steps through the illusion of black leather. “Better?” she asks.

“Yes,” Chloe says. “Mostly. What are you doing here, anyway? Was I made less of a priority again? Demoted from cat to fox?”

Volpina shakes her head, ponytail swinging as she sits down on the front of Chloe’s bed, legs crossed like some 40’s lounge singer on the cover of her father’s records. “I’m _here,_ B,” she says, brushing a gloved hand along Chloe’s sheets, “because we need to talk.”

Of course Adrien was right. He’s always right. He always comes along with what Chloe needs to hear, but for some reason she doesn’t see the danger.

Well, she sees it. She sees the way Nicola somehow can’t tell how close she is to breaking right now. She sees the remnants of moving shadows on her wall. She knows everything is temporary, but it’s worth it, right?

Sunsets can still be beautiful even though they don’t last. 

And, anyway, Adrien’s not the one who climbed through her balcony tonight. He doesn’t get a say in this.

There is still the matter of _we need to talk_ and its implications. There is still the matter of her heartbeat soaring high and her head hurting at the very thought of what it means. She doesn’t want to be left behind again.

“Nicola,” Chloe says, not a question, but just confirmation. A spark of _something_ flares up behind the other girl’s orange mask. It’s not anger but … curiosity maybe? She takes a deep breath, trying not to let her know how much this whole situation has freaked her out. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Nicola leans back, her left hand pushing into Chloe’s mattress. Her brown eyes flick to the ceiling, the floor, the door leading to Chloe’s bathroom—doing everything but meeting her eyes. “So, I was on patrol tonight. You know, the usual—”

“Actually, I don’t,” Chloe points out. “ _I’m_ not a superhero. I’d think _you_ , of all people, would know that.”

She meets her eyes only for a second to give her a _look._

“Anyway. Chat Noir and Ladybug were acting weird, like they always are—”

“What do you mean _acting weird?”_ Chloe asks, scooting closer to her. “Was Chat Noir not flirting with her hard enough or something? I swear he just needs to dial it down a _little_ and then … Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What do you mean _flirting_ , B? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get close enough to her outside of battle to touch her shoulder, let alone pull a move on her.”

Chloe squints. She has to be kidding her. She’s got to be pulling some sort of prank, because Chloe’s _seen_ the way Chat Noir behaves around Ladybug. It’s embarrassing to watch. To be fair, she’s not much better herself but … to barely be touching each other?

Maybe it’s because he’s dating Ladybug as himself now? That would certainly stop the flirting but—

They’ve always touched each other, she knows that. Even from that first battle against Stoneheart. There are gifs of it all over the Ladyblog. And Adrien’s the type to give out platonic affection. She remembers that much, at least, from the days when they were still friends.

A sympathetic touch from him could give off a kind of warmth Chloe doesn’t even know how to explain. Not the type of warmth she feels now—the kind that snakes its way up her back and around her neck, the kind that makes the entire room feel like it’s on fire.

Or maybe that’s just the summer heat.

“At least tell me he’s still making terrible puns.”

Nicola smiles at that, white teeth like pearls under her darkly painted lips. She looks more dangerous in her Volpina outfit, somehow. Like any second now Chloe could see those shadows from before in her dark irises.

“Well, he did say that I shouldn’t take the fact that he and Ladybug don’t really trust me so _purrsonally_ , so.”

Chloe represses her urge to facepalm.

“You spend more time with him than I do, really,” Nicola says, eyes trained on Chloe’s pillows. “Since he’s always over here …”

“You know, it’s okay to be jealous,” Chloe says with a hair flip. “I know hanging out with me can be the best moment of a person’s life.” 

Nicola pushes her shoulder in protest. “I’m not _jealous_ , B. I just … I have a point. They barely talk to each other, like ever, and I learned why today and—” She stops and takes a deep breath, sitting up from her lounging position and clasping her hands together on her thighs. “I needed to make sure I didn’t make the same mistakes as them.”

Chloe wants to know what those mistakes were, she really does, but it just doesn’t feel important right now. She doesn’t need these details about Adrien and Ladybug’s messed up relationships to each other right now. She just wants to bask in the fact that she’s not being left alone, that Nicola’s not running away, that, if anything, she’s moving closer. 

“I don’t get it,” she says. “What does them not talking to each other have to do with you?”

Nicola opens her hands and clasps them around Chloe’s, a move so small that she might not have noticed except she did and now she is very sure her arms might actually be on fire right now. Or maybe it’s just another one of the fox’s illusions. She can’t tell.

“The whole reason I came here, Chloe, is because of this one girl, Lila. I think you might know her.”

“I hate her. She’s my nemesis.” Nicola laughs at that, bright and clear and absolutely beautiful.

“She was akumatized to look like she had the fox miraculous. She didn’t, obviously, because it was in a very, very old sealed box, but that’s not what matters. What matters is she made them not trust each other for a moment, and that tore a hole between them. Ladybug keeps insisting we all not reveal our identities to anyone, and so _that’s_ messed them up a whole bunch too because I just _know_ in my gut that things would work out if they’d just trust each other with everything again—”

“Wait,” Chloe interrupts. “What does this have to do with you being here?”

“I wanted you to know that I’m Volpina. I needed to not have this secret between us because … I really like you, B. You’re bold and funny and you know what you want and I really really don’t want to mess things up. So here I am. Hi, my name’s Nicola and sometimes I turn into a fox and make people see things with my flute.” She’s smiling so wide now Chloe’s worried it might spread. Smiles are contagious, after all. Kind of like the plague.

Chloe knows what it’s like to read too much into things. She’s done it far too often. She tends to jump to conclusions far too easily, especially when it comes to things that could possibly hurt her. Every action needs a slightly larger than equal and opposite reaction but now?

Now she’s refusing with every bone in her body to think Nicola’s words mean what she wants them to mean, now she needs clarification. Now she wants to have some control over this situation. 

Has she already snapped? Is that why this is different? Is that why she’s able to hold all of herself back from this moment? She’s normally a racehorse ready to fly at the slightest sound, but right now she’s just waiting. Chloe’s waiting. She’s waiting and it’s … actually not that bad?

“Okay …” Chloe starts, tentatively. “You’ve twisted me all around now. What exactly is it that you’re asking me?”

Nicola takes another deep breath. “It’s like I said earlier, B. You’re really important to me. I didn’t want what’s keeping Ladybug and Chat Noir from getting together to keep us from …”

She trails off, but it’s all there, sitting in the silence. Chloe can feel it, in the heat around her neck, the way her heartbeat won’t stop racing forward.

“You’re important to me too,” Chloe says, voice shaking. “Even if you are wearing orange.”

“No, no. I mean … I’m asking you out B. That’s … that’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh,” Chloe says.

She wants to say something, _anything,_ to answer Nicola, but that’s easier said than done because her heart feels like she’s just attempted to shove the hotel an inch to the left with her bare hands. Chloe can’t think. She can barely breathe.

Nicola’s face falls.

She has to do something, she _has to._ She can’t just let another thing fall out of her grasp like this. She can’t just lose another person. It’s all crumbling away so fast, like fine sand. She—

She kisses her. Hands around her face, fingertips just brushing the edge of her mask. It’s all impulse and adrenaline and Chloe ignores the bubbling pit of self hatred rising in her stomach because she _needs to know._

And then, Nicola kisses back.

It’s a symphony. A cacophony of echoes. It’s the sound that light makes when it leaves the sun. It’s everything. 

For the first time in so, _so_ long, Chloe feels tethered to something. Nicola’s hands on her shoulders are defense against the storm around her. She deepens the kiss and her nails dig in but only a little bit and Chloe almost thinks she has wings.

She pulls away with a gasp and opens her eyes to find she’s looking down at soft hands, perfectly manicured. Chloe meets Nicola’s eyes and finds them as brown and perfect as ever, absent of that tacky orange mask. The other girl smiles at her with the power of a thousand suns, lips absent of color.

“Your lipstick,” Chloe manages, when she finds her voice again. “It’s gone.”

Nicola’s smile grows even wider, if that’s possible. “The transformations wear off after a certain amount of time.” Her eyes dart to Chloe’s lips for a moment, right hand coming up to brush the corner of Chloe’s lip. “And anyway, it’s not all gone.”

Chloe’s tempted to kiss her again except for the very real possibility that she has orange on her lips because even a kiss isn’t worth _that_ level of fashion disaster. “I hate you.”

“It’s just a little orange.”

“It’s _ORANGE!_ ”

Nicola laughs as she softly pushes her off the bed and toward the bathroom. “Well then go take care of it. For what it’s worth, I think it’s adorable.”

“It’s _not adorable,_ ” Chloe mutters under her breath, bare feet hitting carpet. “It’s _orange._ ”

*.*.*

Compared to the electric feeling in the air outside her bathroom door, the tile room itself feels extremely quiet.

And cold. It’s cold too. The marble tiles balancing the rush of heat still filling Chloe’s head with a firework display.

She leans over the sink, hands pressed flat against the counter tops, to see what damage truly has been done with this orange lipstick.

It’s smudged, a little bit above her lips, and when Chloe moves her hand to wipe it off she remembers every second of contact in exquisite detail.

Chloe bends down to take a makeup wipe out from her cabinets, but pauses for a second as she comes back up. The orange looks bad, it _does_ , but there’s something keeping her from wiping it off.

She doesn’t _want_ to look like a sunset, all orange and yellow mixed with the flush she can’t keep out of her cheeks, but truth be told it’s not a terrible look. It’s all transitions. Isn’t that what a sunset is? When day loses its grip on the world and gives in to the whims of the night. 

Chloe used to think she was the kind of person who preferred the day over the night, but right now the night’s looking more and more like something she wants to be a part of.

Is it the night, really, though? Or is it something else?

Maybe it’s the people of the night. The red, black, and now orange shadows that dart around the rooftops of the city and sometimes find their way into her room. They’re untouchable and yet somehow they’re still letting her touch them.

More than that, now, really …

It might not be the lipstick that looks good on her, per se, but more what it means. It’s unconventional, it’s magical, it’s something she’s never quite experienced before and yet …

Chloe doesn’t want to take it off quite yet. Because if she takes it off, that means it’s over. She’s no longer a part of this. At least … until the lipstick finds its way back on her lips at some point, which she’s hoping it will.

“I told you it looked good!” Nicola yells from the other room. 

“It’s _so orange_!” Chloe yells back.

It _is_ orange. Like a traffic cone. Like candles. Like sunset. Like tangerines. Like everything Chloe wants to be but just quite isn’t. 

She’s always pictured white as the most stable color. Maybe it had something to do with the marble columns all over both her and Adrien’s houses. Or maybe it’s that statue in the lobby.

Now, though, orange feels so solid. So there. So present in the moment. It’s every sense being felt at once. It’s experiencing the world without this numbness that sometimes threatens to overwhelm her and the thing is, Chloe likes it.

Or maybe she just likes kissing Nicola.

She’s allowed to like both. She thinks.

There’s her father and the voting population and all those expectations constantly weighing on her shoulders to deal with but …

For now … For now it’s nighttime and the moon is shining and Chloe has orange on her lips and there’s a girl just outside the door with a smile like sunshine and all Chloe wants to do is just fall into it.

She leaves the lipstick on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that was fun.
> 
> I just wanted to let you guys know that I've made an "official" playlist for this series, and that you can find that [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/readingqueen811/playlist/7EpgDIwi6HLHL5BkNu8hky). There are some songs on there that you'd expect (like Call Me, for instance), but other than that a lot of the songs are just my personal soundtrack I use to get into Chloe's headspace (and sometimes Adrien's) for most of this fic.
> 
> Also feel free to check out my ["cceb ref" tag](http://adastrabella.tumblr.com/tagged/cceb-ref) on tumblr where I put all the art and other posts I see on my dash that give me the feelios for this fic. Another great tag related to this fic would be my regular [cceb tag](http://adastrabella.tumblr.com/tagged/cceb) because I post a lot of things there about the fic, including - but not limited to - snippets, musings on the latest chapter, and ask games I get about it.
> 
> Anyway, I love you guys a lot. Hope my hints about what Marinette and Adrien have been up to this whole time haven't gotten you guys too twisted in knots. I promise it'll be addressed at some point.
> 
> -Sim


	6. Bees Have A Notion of Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before, Nicola comes by with brownies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is... a depart from my usual broodiness.  
> That being said, you guys asked for some Marinette/Adrien interaction and here's the first bit of it. Obviously there's not a /lot/, but this is all building up to something bigger, I promise (I actually know it is because I actually did some real outlining for once in my life).  
> This was gonna go a route that dealt with a lot more of the issues a teenage girl faces when she first starts dating another girl, but you know what? I'm going to not deal with that right now because these kids deserve some happiness and also I want to make it very clear that this isn't one of those "oh the only reason she's mean is because shes gayyyyy" fics because I hate that stuff so much.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading. Here's a Mess(TM) of a chapter.

_“Stings as big as drawing pins! / It seems bees have a notion of honor, / A black intractable mind.”_

_\- Stings,_ Sylvia Plath

Chloe’s flying, she’s falling, and then she’s nothing.

She wakes on silk sheets, blonde hair knotted during the night. There’s a smudge of orange on her pillow. She smiles at that.

Nicola’s long gone, having left about an hour before Chloe could calm herself down enough to sleep. She’d winked before she’d left, popping back around the corner of Chloe’s doorframe with a contagious laugh, dark eyes twinkling like the night sky.

It’s like a beautiful dream. A beautiful, totally real dream. Better than that rush she gets from a new pair of shoes.

She doesn’t want to think too hard about the aftermath of this. Because it _is_ complicated. Nicola’s a model and a superhero and really only here for the summer. Adrien still thinks she’s dangerous. Her father…

Chloe doesn’t want to think about what her father might think right now. He doesn’t have to know. He almost never knows anything about her life unless she screams it to him these days.

Chloe calls down for some lemonade (done _right_ this time) and turns on her television. Everything feels so soft around her. The colors. The sounds. Like there’s a quiet violin playing in the background.

The smell of chocolate comes wafting through the air. “I didn’t order anything,” Chloe calls towards her door. Not that she minds the chocolate, she just … really doesn’t want to be disturbed by the staff right now.

“I know,” Nicola says, and Chloe turns her head. She smiles when she sees her, slipping through the door of Chloe’s balcony, a pink paper pastry box in her gloved hand. “But I thought you might enjoy something anyway.”

The box says “Tom and Sabine Boulangerie and Patisserie” in silvery cursive. It’s Marinette’s family’s bakery but Chloe doesn’t really mind. They make good pastries. As long as no one’s really _around_ to see her eat one…

“I brought you brownies,” Nicola says, after she’s detransformed. “I thought you might like something special for breakfast while we plan our date.”

_Plan our date._ Three little magic words that make Chloe want to do backflips. She feels a smile erupting on her face. “Lemonade and brownies. That’s a good breakfast.”

Nicola smiles in return. “I know, right?”

Chloe opens the box. They’re all untouched. Hot and fresh fudge that smells incredible. Chloe inhales in the chocolate scent and sighs. “They’re perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” Nicola says.

“I know,” Chloe replies, tossing her hair.

Normally she’d be self-conscious with her hair down and no makeup on, but she can’t find the energy to care right now. After all, if Nicola thinks she looks good in _orange_ , she doubts she’s going to find _anything_ _else_ repulsive.

Chloe pulls on Nicola’s hand, and she sits down on the bed next to her. They both dig their fingers into the box of brownies. The chocolate squishes as she pulls out a piece. When she looks up, she finds Nicola’s already eaten her piece. There’s chocolate crumbs all over her mouth.

“You’re such a mess,” Chloe says. “The chocolate’s supposed to go _in_ your mouth, not _on_ it.”

“No,” Nicola responds. “It’s supposed to go in _your_ mouth.” She takes the brownie from Chloe’s hand and starts to lift it up to her mouth when—

Something black flies through the air in the corner of Chloe’s eye. She blinks and turns to find a leather-clad Adrien crouched on the floor.

“Where’s Volpina?” Chat Noir asks, scanning the room wildly, his blonde hair recklessly flying around and somehow looking even worse than usual. “I saw her come in here. Did she hurt you—” His eyes land on Nicola, whose hand is paused mid way to Chloe’s mouth, and seems to understand. “ _Oh,”_ he says. “ _Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!_ ”

Chloe facepalms. “Nicola, this is Adrien,” she mumbles. “You guys already met. Adrien, this is Nicola. She’s my girlfriend now.”

She peers up at Adrien through a crack in her fingers. His smile’s so big she’s afraid he’s about to pop like a balloon. 

“So _you’re_ the cat?” Nicola asks, sizing him up. She shrugs. “Makes sense. Does LB know?”

Chat gives her a look. “You know how she is about secret identities. Sorry about the whole … ninja thing.”

Chloe groans again. “Adrien, you’re not a ninja. As much as you’d like to be.”

“So…” he says, ignoring her. “Girlfriend, huh?”

“Yes,” Nicola turns back towards Chloe. “It’s new, actually.”

“She brought me brownies,” Chloe says, and then takes a bite out of the brownie in Nicola’s hand to prove the point.

Nicola starts blushing. Chloe smiles through her brownie. 

“Are those … Marinette’s brownies?”

“What?” Chloe asks, through a mouthful of brownie. “They’re good.” She swallows. “And, besides, it’s not like _she_ made them.”

“Actually,” Adrien says, reaching over for one. “I happen to know she has the morning shift this summer, and, judging by how hot these are, I’d say she _did_ make them.”

“Hey!” Nicola interjects. “Hands off the brownies. These are for Chloe.”

“Ah, yes,” Adrien sighs. “I’d forgotten how bad she is at sharing. I remember when we were younger and we used to take baths together…”

“I swear to God, Adrien—” Chloe growls.

“You two have known each other a long time, huh?” Nicola asks.

“Too long,” Chloe says. 

“We used to play princesses together.”

“Princesses?”

“I happen to look excellent in dresses. Here, let me show you.”

Adrien starts making his way towards Chloe’s closet and that’s when she loses it. “ADRIEN!” she yells. “We are _trying_ to plan a date here!”

“A date?” he asks, turning back to them, eyes wide with excitement. “Can I help?”

“I’m sorry about him,” Chloe says, turning to Nicola. “He’s just really happy I’m dating someone because he’s dating someone.”

“Ooh,” Nicola starts. “Who are you dating?”

“Ladybug.” Chloe says. Nicola chokes on her brownie.

“Wait, wait.” Nicola waves her hands in the air. “You’re dating _Ladybug?_ As in “don’t talk to each other anymore because that one akuma messed things up” _Ladybug?_ ”

“He’s dating her as Adrien,” Chloe clarifies. “It’s really dumb and cute.”

“ _He’s_ really dumb and cute,” Nicola corrects. 

“Hey!” 

“Not as cute as _you_ , obviously.”

“It’s _complicated,_ ” Adrien mumbles, defending himself. “Still, we should definitely go on a double date.”

“No,” Chloe says. “I’m not bringing you on my first date with Nicola.”

“It’s a _great idea_ ,” he explains. “Ladybug can get to trust Volpina and you and I can spend time together and we can all just be _happy._ ”

On a certain level, Chloe understands why he’s so happy about this development in her life. Someone else might think it’s because she’s finally ‘moved on’ from him, but she’s not quite sure that’s the case. The way she feels about Nicola and the way she felt about Adrien are … different. 

No, Adrien’s happy because she’s happy—because their happiness is so infrequent and unexpected. Because they’ve both been suffering for so long and haven’t had someone to lean on in so long and now both of them have more than one person to love and depend on.

It’s a quiet moment for the both of them right now, and she supposes it’s not quite so bad if he wants to celebrate it.

Also, this means she’s going to get to see Ladybug, and she always loves that.

“Great,” Nicola says. “Let me call and check my schedule.” She sits up off the bed and steps onto Chloe’s balcony. 

Chloe looks up at Adrien, suddenly anxious. “Do you think Ladybug will … be okay with this?”

“Oh, definitely!” Adrien says. “She loves supporting people’s relationships! One time she set up this whole flower maze thing so Juleka could ask the girl she liked out!”

It’s not exactly the answer Chloe was looking for, but she supposes it's okay that Adrien didn’t understand her question. She got her answer anyway. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, Chloe.” Adrien murmurs.

“I’m glad I’m happy too.”

*.*.*

When Chloe arrives, Adrien and Ladybug are already there. Neither Ladybug or Nicola really look _transformed_ , per se, since both don’t have on their bodysuits, but Chloe had helped Nicola pick out a fashionably large pair of sunglasses and a relatively nice, soft grey hoodie to help conceal her identity. Ladybug seems to have had a similar idea.

She’s wearing a giant floppy sun hat instead of a hoodie, though. It’s terrible and she hates it, but it’s _Ladybug_ who’s wearing it so _maybe_ it looks good.

They’re at this little diner in a part of town Chloe’s never been to. It’s practically a hole in the wall, but it has this 50’s aesthetic going on that’s not _so bad_. There is a real fear of rats, though.

Her and Nicola enter, and Chloe resists the urge to grab her hand. 

“Ugh, Adrien!” Chloe says, in greeting. “How did you even _find_ this place?”

“It’s nice to go to a place where they don’t know me from time to time.”

He says it like he’s talking about Adrien Agreste, but she thinks that might not be the entire case. This feels like a place he might come between masks; when the night is heavy and dark and he’s not quite Chat Noir but not quite Adrien Agreste either. It’s just … whoever he really is. The happy medium. 

It’s a place that’s really his own. Where he doesn’t have to be anyone but himself, absent of both the masks. Chloe wishes she could find a place like that for herself.

“I chose it because I figured it would help you guys out as well,” he says, gesturing to Nicola and Ladybug. “Besides, the food here is great.”

“As long as there’s not any pizza…” Chloe mutters.

“I didn’t know you didn’t like pizza, B,” Nicola says, as they sit down together.

“I _hate_ it,” Chloe starts. “It’s so gross and… _greasy._ ”

Ladybug frowns a little bit. Chloe immediately retracts her statement.

“What I _meant to say_ ,” Chloe quickly backtracks, correcting herself, “is that I’ve just never had a pizza I actually liked. They’re all _much_ too greasy. But I’m _sure_ the pizzas you eat are absolutely delicious!”

“Smooth,” Nicola whispers to her.

Chloe wants to sink into the ground. 

She _really_ loves Ladybug. She’s perfect and amazing and literally everything Chloe wishes she could be, but it’s become a problem, because Chloe literally cannot disagree with her.

All she wants is for her to like her. It’s just really, really hard.

For whatever reason, Ladybug’s just so closed off. Really, it’s a wonder Adrien has _one_ relationship with her, let alone two. She never seems to want to talk to Chloe, always saying things like “This isn’t a joke,” and “I have to get back to the akuma!”

Chloe knows fighting akumas isn’t a joke. She just wishes Ladybug would realize her admiration for her isn’t a joke either.

“Personally,” Nicola says, “I prefer pesto pizza. Maybe it’s just because I really love basil. Have you guys ever made hand made pesto?”

Chloe and Adrien give her their best “I’ve never cooked a day in my life” looks.

Nicola rolls her eyes playfully. “How about _you,_ LB? Have you ever made pesto?”

“I’ve tried,” Ladybug confesses. “I’m really bad at it, though.”

“We’ll have to try again together sometime, then,” Adrien says.

He looks at her like she’s the stars. It’s disgusting. Chloe almost wants Nicola to look at her like that, except they’re not that disgustingly cute.

She looks over at Nicola, who’s trying to feed her French fries.

Okay, so maybe they _are_ that disgustingly cute.

*.*.*

Somehow they get on the topic of Chloe and Adrien’s classmates. Chloe’s not sure who brought it up, but it _certainly_ wasn’t her, since she hates a lot of them. It was probably Adrien. He’s always talking about their classmates. 

“So then,” Ladybug starts, with a laugh that sounds like sunshine. “Juleka tells me it would mean the world to Rose if I was involved, and I can’t just say _no_ , can I? They’re just so cute together.”

“I’ll have to meet these girls,” Nicola says, “they sound awesome.”

Chloe can’t imagine any scenario where her introducing Nicola to Rose and Juleka ends up well since they both hate her.

“Do you know any of my other classmates?” Adrien asks.

“Well,” Ladybug responds, “I always seemed to be fighting akumas over there during the school year, so I’ve met a lot of them.”

Adrien gives Chloe a look.

“ _What?_ ” she says. “It’s not _my_ fault that there are so many akumatizations at our school!”

“Chloe, you caused at least half of the ones last year,” Adrien points out.

“And? Marinette caused the second highest amount!”

“She caused two. And both were an accident.”

“Yeah,” Ladybug interjects. “Sometimes akumatizations are accidents.”

“I just have a lot of accidents then, that’s all.”

“Well, Chloe,” Ladybug says, “I did send Chat Noir over to your house this summer for a reason.”

“No, you sent him over there because you didn’t want to deal with him.” Nicola points the fry in her hand at Ladybug in an only slightly accusatory manner.

“That’s not—! I care a lot about Chat Noir, I was just—”

Chloe makes eye contact with Adrien. He looks hurt. Maybe worried. She needs to salvage whatever direction this is going in. “You should’ve sent him over to Marinette’s house too.”

“He didn’t _need_ to be over there!”

“Are you sure? Because she can be really sneaky. One time—”

“Not this again!” Adrien groans. “Chloe, it’s been _years._ ”

“ _One time,_ ” she continues, over him. “She wore the _same dress as me_ on picture day.”

“Chloe you were like _nine!_ ”

“She spilled _water_ on my dress! She’s vindictive!”

“I’m sure it was an accident,” Ladybug mumbles. 

Nicola turns to her. “You’re really still hung up about this?” 

“I mean, not _really_ ,” Chloe says. “She just—She’s so _good_ at everything and it’s like some cosmic accident because she’ll just trip over her own two feet and end up class president and _that’s not the way the world works!_ ”

Nicola smirks. “How does it work then?”

Chloe scoffs, trying to find an answer for that. “Obviously I don’t know. If I did I wouldn’t be so _bad_ at everything she’s so good at. It’s uncanny. It’s… She’s just like you in that way, Ladybug, except you’re prettier. Almost as pretty as me.”

It’s a good cover, she thinks. At least, the best she can do under the circumstances. The conversation is floating dangerously close to _Acapulco_ territory, and she really doesn’t want to go there in front of Ladybug. She doesn’t want her to know how incapable she is at making friends and getting people to stay and not being _broken_ all the time.

“I’m going to get another soda,” Ladybug mutters, getting up from the table and walking towards the old root beer machine. 

“Let me join you,” Nicola says, scooting out of the booth to follow her.

It’s just Adrien and Chloe alone in the booth now. He’s giving her this strange look that she can’t quite crack. “Ugh,” she groans, pushing her face into her hands. “I’m doing terribly.”

“No,” he responds. “You’re—you’re not. You’re doing fine. You’re just being you.”

They sit in silence for a moment, eating their fries, before Adrien talks again.

“Do you think… Was what Nicola said true? Did she just make me watch you because she didn’t want to see me?”

“Adrien,” Chloe says, lowering her handful of fries. “Nicola told me what it’s been like between the two of you since Volpina. Is it really such a bad thing for her to want space to figure things out?”

“I was gonna tell her, Chloe. I was… She’s going to hate me now.” He stares out the window, almost a teen hero from a movie, but not quite. There’s that sadness in his eyes no actor can really convey.

“She’s not going to _hate you_ , Adrien. You’re way too pretty for that.”

“I’m _serious_ Chloe.”

“Why does everyone think I’m not being serious? You are. You should see the way she looks at you. It’s disgusting.”

“ _Really?_ ” he asks, his sadness fading into amusement.

“Yes. Like … like... You see this cherry?” Chloe pops the fake cherry off the straw of her strawberry milkshake. “It’s disgustingly sweet and yet,” she pops it into her mouth, “I stomach it anyways.”

*.*.*

Overall, it’s not the worst date Chloe’s ever been on.

She likes the way Nicola’s hand feels in hers when they walk back to the hotel together. The sun is setting and she’s still stuck on the magic of _in between._ The walk slowly in the golden light, and the air smells like honey.

Chloe’s tall in her high heels. She doesn’t really expect it when Nicola rests her head in the crook of her neck, but she doesn’t mind it anyways. She likes the way they fit together. 

“Don’t your parents worry about you?” she asks Nicola, as they pass a couple and their small child.

“Nah,” Nicola replies. “They have more important things to worry about.”

“Hashtag First World Problems,” Chloe responds.

“How about you?”

“He worries, but… I think he figures I’m okay as long as I don’t tell him anything’s wrong. He’s been so busy this summer trying to deal with the problems all these akumatizations have caused. I don’t know if he even knows we’ve been hanging out.”

“Hanging out?”

“Well I can’t say dating; we only just went on our first one.”

“Ahh, okay. How about your mom?”

“My mom is… she’s been gone for a while. _Acapulco_ , I think. I don’t know exactly where, but it sure would be nice to know so I could yell at her for all the ways she’s messed me up.”

“Have you ever been there?” Nicola asks, tracing the lines of Chloe’s palm with her thumb.

“No… I don’t even really remember exactly where it is.”

“It’s in Southern Mexico. I went there once; some of my family used to live there. They moved closer to the capital, though.”

“What’s it like?”

“Hot,” she says. “And beautiful.”

“So, just like me?”

“Do you ever stop?” Nicola asks, shoving her a little bit.

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, so what did you think? You've gotten a taste of the team this is heading towards.  
> This is a little more fluff/crack of a chapter than I usually do, but, what can I say? It builds tension.  
> Thanks for reading. xx


	7. So I Left the Hive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS GUYS SGUSUFSYYYS   
> CHLOBEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> The deal with this fic is it's been sitting with this chapter finished kind of in a lull since I started school and SAT prep and all that because both my beta and I have been really busy but when I saw the news I knew I had to put this chapter up because GUYSSSSSSSSS [](http://adastrabella.tumblr.com/post/150929113369/breeeliss-edendaphne-hchano-lunian>CHLOE%20IS%20GONNA%20BE%20QUEEN%20BEE%20OFFICIALLY</a>%20I'M%20SO%20HAPPY!!%0AA%20redemption%20arc%20from%20Chloe%20means%20a%20whole%20lot%20to%20me%20\(obviously\)%20so%20I%20hope%20you%20all%20are%20happy%20with%20both%20the%20news%20and%20this%20chapter%20since%20like%20wow%20a%20plot%20is%20actually%20implemented%20here%20for%20once.)

_I am a honey bee / Shunned off from the colony / and they won’t let me in // So I left the hive / They took away all my stripes // And broke off both my wings_

- _Honey Bee_ by Zee Avi

The walk up to the Agreste mansion is one Chloe’s done more times than she can count. She’s ran through the gardens, hidden behind the columns, and now she marches up to the front door with her first girlfriend.

It really is a momentous location in her life - fitting that it would be, really, since it’s such a gorgeous place. It fits her. Much more than the hotel does, at least.

This place is a home, which is more than she can say for her penthouse suite. That hasn’t been a home since it was first built, and she doubts it ever will be.

Maybe that’s why she’s so nervous to bring Nicola here. It could be something else but… No, Chloe doesn’t want to think about that. Adrien’s the one who invited them here; _he_ can be the one to worry about what Monsieur Agreste may or may not think.

She rings the doorbell softly, lost in the way this place always makes her _feel_. Some part of her’s still caught up in the fairytale games they used to play every time she comes here. Something inside her switches from wondering if she’s real to wondering if the rest of the world is.

Adrien’s butler opens the door for him, and Chloe almost feels bad that she can’t remember his name, _almost_ , but then she sees Adrien standing on the other side of the door with a smile on his face and she forgets all about it.

He welcomes them in, gesturing to things that are new only for Nicola, a real tour guide when he wants to be. They stroll all around the parlor, trailing after him as he points out vases and columns and marble tiles, until he finally leads them left into the portrait room.

Normally, Adrien dislikes going in here, something about “not wanting to see his own face” and “only really seeing the flaws in his performance” and “what do you not understand about this, Chloe?” but she supposes he’s lost that feeling in the excitement of having friends over.

They stroll along the upper walkways, stopping every few moments for Nicola and Adrien to discuss certain designers and the merits of working with them, until they make their way to the end of the room.

The warm smile of Adrien’s mother welcomes them, despite the way both the walls and floor darken as they enter. Nicola gasps when she sees the golden portrait, and Chloe smiles.

The twin portraits were made, after all, to elicit exclamations of wonder.

“She’s so beautiful,” Nicola whispers, eyes wide with a reverence she’s never really shown for the portrait’s twin. Possibly because Chloe’s never treated it with the respect the Agrestes seem to.

“My mother,” Adrien offers in explanation. “Chloe’s family has the matching one. You’ve probably seen it…”

“I didn’t realize-” she starts, but then stops, and Chloe gets why. Most people can’t take the blow when they see the way losses can strike so close together, like twin meteorites: always so much prettier from far away. Nicola swallows and turns to look at him. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “You couldn’t have known. Most people don’t. They weren’t highly publicized.”

“She’s still… very beautiful.” Her dark eyes are lost somewhere, in the picture, and Chloe can’t quite read them. She’s not even sure if she’s able to experience the kind of emotion Nicola must be feeling right now.

“Ah, yes.” A voice comes from behind them, and they all turn to see Adrien’s father standing behind them. Chloe has no idea how long he’d been standing there before he’d made his presence known. She quickly goes over everything she’s said since they entered the room.

“It is a very beautiful portrait. Mayor Bourgeois and I do have that similar affinity for these sorts of things. As for the model, well. She was just a person. Just my wife.”

His cool tone makes her blood boil.

Without really knowing why, Chloe reaches for Nicola’s hand. They intertwine their fingers, palms possibly the warmest thing in the whole cold marble room. Her other hand clenches into a fist, and her nails begin to dig in. 

_Just my wife,_ he’d said, as if he could even begin to pretend most of the people in this room _just_ saw her in any one way. Hannah Agreste could not be fit into any one _just_ \- she’d been a force of nature. 

Nicola could ask, she could be bold and slightly rash like she usually is, but she doesn’t say anything (to Chloe’s great relief) maybe because he’s her boss to some degree, maybe just because the room’s grown a little too cold for her hot head to stick around.

Chloe supposes she gets the gist, though; trinkets and wall decor are not very good substitutes when the world runs out of mothers. Or, really, when the mothers run out of your world.

“I would advise you to step back, however,” Monsieur Agreste continues. “I’ve made quite a few upgrades to my security system recently, and the police _will_ promptly arrive if you get too close.”

Chloe immediately steps back from the gold portrait. Nicola follows suit, but Adrien… Adrien just stares at the portrait and then at his father, his eyes completely unreadable. Monsieur Agreste clicks his tongue disapprovingly and only then does Adrien finally step back. 

As soon as he leaves, walking towards the end of the portrait room where Ms. Sanceour sits working at her desk, Chloe pounces on Adrien, buzzing with questions. “What was up with that? How come your security wasn’t upgraded _years ago_ when ours was? You know, my father _warned_ him. Unless… did the value of yours go up and ours didn’t? That’s not possible, what am I thinking? Ours has the same amount of gold as yours, maybe more. The only reason it’s value would increase is if she’s officially-”

Chloe cuts herself off, both out of fear of the words and the horrified expression on Adrien’s face. That was the one benefit of _Acapulco_ \- neither of them ever had to consider the possibility of death.

“No! No!” Adrien protests, and that only makes her think she’s right. “It’s because, well…” he lowers his voice to a whisper. “At the end of school, someone broke into the safe back there.”

“ _There’s a-_ ” Chloe begins to screech, but catches herself at the last minute. “There’s a safe back there? But what about the _canvas?_ What kind of household is your father running here?”

Adrien gives her a look, and then continues. “There was this book that my father kept of all these things related to the miraculous users. And now he has no idea where it is.”

Nicola raises an eyebrow. “But you do?”

Adrien hides his face in his hands, but Chloe can still see his green eyes peeking out from between his fingers. His voice almost sounds like it’s shaking as he whispers, eyes darting around the room at the many hidden security cameras. “I’m the one who took it.”

She understands, then, the reason for his gesture. She sees the black half of a sphere in the ceiling that looks slightly different from the other ones in the room. If she looks close enough, she can almost see a slight scratch on the wall behind it, so similar to the indentations on her bedroom carpet, right in front of the balcony.

“Where is it?” Chloe asks, overcome with the curiosity of the things this book can tell her. Things about his family, her family. Things about herself. Things like why everyone close to her this summer seems to be on some level of goodness she cannot achieve. If it’s a qualification for the job, it’s one she can’t ever hope to achieve.

_But, then again_ , she thinks, eyes drifting again to that corner of the room, _maybe they’re not all good._

Adrien shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Chloe’s girlfriend smirks, brown eyes filled with answers to questions she didn’t even think to ask until now. “I do,” she whispers, conspiratorially.

Before she can say anymore, a small _ahem_ from across the room interrupts them. Nathalie Sanceour stands there, lips pursed in that slightly haughty frown of hers like always, and clipboard in hand. “The chefs would like me to inform you that dinner is about to be served,” she says. 

Chloe remembers when she used to be more of a secretary and less of a personal assistant. That was before _Acapulco_ , before car rides full of laughter and love became stiffly silent car rides where Chloe would smush her ice cream on the plush leather seats just so _someone_ would say _something_. Before anything was better than that suffocating quiet of being sheltered from the truth.

_We’ll talk later_ , Nicola mouths at them, and Adrien nods. The group makes their way towards the dining room door and Chloe wonders if there’s a picture in that book with an uncanny resemblance to her mother.

*.*.*

They’re sat down on the white couch in Adrien’s room when Nicola finally opens up about the book’s location, staring up at the setting sun, having sneaked a few cookies upstairs.

_Sneaked_ being the operative word here, since it’s something their resident fox seems to be uncannily good at, and Adrien’s not technically supposed to be eating sweets right now.

To be fair, that pesky little rule has never stopped Chloe.

Nicola looks softer in the quiet orange light. She’d never have thought this color would look so good on someone, but it just… does. If they weren’t in the Agreste mansion, she might do something about it.

“So...” Chloe prompts, leaning back on the couch, “where’s the book and when are we stealing it back?”

“Whoa there,” Adrien puts his hands up cautiously. “Who said anything about stealing?”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. _Cataclysm_ ,” she retorts. “Don’t think I didn’t see that scratch mark on the wall.”

“What? That wasn’t-” he tries, but gives up when she raises her eyebrow. “For the record, Nathalie was okay with it.”

Chloe wouldn’t be surprised if she was. “With you using black hole claws to ruin the walls?”

“No…” he mumbles. “She just said my father probably wouldn’t go to the police if there was no footage…”

“Okay!” Nicola cuts in. “Do you guys want to know where the book is, or not?”

Chloe immediately straightens back into her seat from where she’d been leaning over to argue with Adrien. “Yes! Where is it? When are we stealing it?”

Her girlfriend rolls her eyes at her, smiling, and gives the answer. “It’s with a man who’s kind of in charge of this whole thing. His name is Fu. He’s the one who called me here.”

“Wait…” Adrien asks. “What? You were _called here_?”

“Yeah,” Chloe affirms, examining her nails. “Because you and Ladybug are a mess.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t see what my relationship with her has anything to do with him. And, anyway, we were barely together when you showed up.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Nicola corrects. “ _Chat Noir_ and Ladybug are a mess.”

“Oh.” Adrien says, and Chloe doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look so sad to see the sun go.

“Uh huh,” she says, and then regrets her callous tone because he just looks so utterly defeated. 

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” he murmurs.

Nicola gives him a small smile. “You two just… you needed to learn how to be a team again. I’m a band-aid of sorts. You’re healing though. I see it every day. You’re just…”

“A mess,” Adrien finishes. “I know.”

Chloe looks away from his face, not able to stand the sight of it anymore. “So, anyway,” she nudges Nicola, but her eyes are focused on the fading light. The sunset’s particularly red today. It looks bleeding, hurt in some way, or maybe it’s just her imagination. “You were saying…”

“Yes, right,” Nicola says. “When I first came into the city, my parents drove me up to his house. He greeted my mom like they were old friends, which is when I suspected something was up. Then, the three of them sat me down on this red mat and brought out a book. They explained the real reason we were here, and he opened this beautiful box and handed me this.” She gestures to her gold curved charm, devoid of all usual orange and white colors without her transformation.

“How did your parents know?” Adrien asks. “Are they artifact hunters or something?”

Nicola snorts at that. “No. They’re politicians. But the reason they knew is because this necklace, it was my mother’s.”

A small rat-shaped thing floats out from behind Adrien. “ _Whooo_ ,” it whistles. “Haven’t seen a second generation in quite a long time.” 

Chloe screams loud enough to shatter glass at the sight of it. Adrien quickly leans over Nicola to shove his hands over her mouth.

She stops screaming, but wonders if maybe he could’ve minded her lipstick a bit more. It’s going to be all smudged and gross now. 

Her girlfriend is absolutely _no_ help with the vermin problem whatsoever, actually nodding at the disgusting flying _thing_ instead of squashing it with Chloe’s purse while Adrien’s distracted. Good help is so hard to find these days.

Nicola smiles. “This has happened before, then?” she asks it. “I thought this was a special circumstance.”

The creature smiles back, showing two tiny, sharp, _probably poisonous_ fangs “Well, they usually are,” it responds. “It’s not often a child’s ideals and personality line up perfectly enough with their parent’s. Also, most would like to keep their children out of the direct line of fire.”

“WHAT IS THAT THING?” Chloe screeches, taking advantage of the fact that Adrien had removed his hands from her mouth to start fiddling with his ring.

The thing glares at her, beady, terrible, _giant_ green eyes narrowing. “Excuse you, your _highness_ , but I am a _kwami_ , not a _thing_.”

“Kwami. Thing. _Whatever_ ,” she moans. “Adrien, why are you keeping flying vermin in this house?”

“He’s my kwami,” Adrien explains, being, once again, absolutely no help whatsoever. 

“Yes,” Chloe rolls her eyes. “I got that. I’ll ask again since you didn’t seem to hear the question. Why are you keeping-”

Nicola’s hand lands on her shoulder as she cuts her off. “B, they’re our guides, and the source of all our powers. They’re always with us when we’re detransformed, and-”

“YOU TWO HAVE BEEN LETTING FLYING VERMIN INTO MY HOUSE FOR WEEKS AND NOT TELLING ME?”

“Once again,” Adrien’s _thing_ notes. “Kwami, not vermin.”

Chloe turns to her girlfriend. “WHERE’S YOURS?” she asks. “LET IT OUT NOW LET ME SEE IT!”

Nicola opens a pocket of her overalls and a little orange fluffball comes out. It looks like a fox. Well _that_ makes sense, Chloe supposes. Adrien’s looks like a cross between a bat and a rat, not any sort of feline.

“Hi, Chloe!” the tiny fox says, in a sugary sweet voice. “My name is Kitt, and-”

“I like the other one better.” Chloe cuts her off, immediately turning back to Adrien’s flying rat. “What’s your name, normal-sounding one?”

“Plagg.” He extends a small black limb (could be a paw, could be a wing, could even be a claw, Chloe’s not quite sure). She warily extends her index finger and he shakes it in some attempt at a handshake. “You’re the best fun I’ve had this summer.”

“How?” she asks, removing her finger from his grasp. “This has been the most boring summer in the history of boring summers.”

He shrugs his tiny, fur-covered shoulders. “You get things done. I like that. All _this one_ does is mope about life and ask questions I’m not allowed to answer.”

“Wait!” Adrien interrupts. “You’re not _allowed_ to answer those questions? I thought you said you didn’t know!”

“I’m thousands of years old,” the kwami explains. “Of _course_ I know. I just think it’s fun watching you squirm.”

“Tikki would be ashamed of your irresponsibility,” Nicola’s fox mutters.

Chloe immediately gasps. “Is Tikki _Ladybug’s_ kwami?”

Plagg and the fox one exchange a look. “Can’t tell you anything, kid,” he finally says. 

It’s a frustrating answer, another in-her-face reminder that, despite all she knows and all she sees, she’s not really a _part_ of this world. Her face is pressed against the metaphorical glass of a VIP lounge that, for the first time in her life, she’s not allowed into. And she sees Adrien, and Nicola, on the other side, and they talk to her but Ladybug…

Ladybug’s hidden behind some beautiful red curtain, and all Chloe can see are glimpses of a person and a life that she so desperately wants to know more about. 

That book has to have answers, though. Maybe the agony of _wanting_ something won’t be quite as bad when at least she knows what it is she wants. This book might have the answer to what special quality it is that makes all these people on a tier above her. 

And then there’s the matter of her mother.

Chloe never would’ve thought before today that all these secrets she now knows have anything to do with the one secret no one seems to want to tell her; the real fate of her mother. She wants to know what’s beyond that smug smile and mountain of dark hair. She wants to know what possessed her to leave.

She pouts at him. “Oh whatever,” Chloe waves a hand, gold bracelets clinking around. “I’ll find out eventually.”

The conversation continues on without her, with heroes and kwamis exchanging stories of things that she can only imagine. She tries not to listen, to feign disinterest so her silence can be construed as boredom rather than desperately trying to catch up in a race she’s not even a part of, but she suspects they might know better.

Adrien puts his hand on her shoulder at some point. Nicola flashes a smile.

Chloe decides it’s not _enough._ It’s hard to feel their love when she doesn’t feel like she _deserves it_ ; the kwamis only another bit of proof of it. She needs something more than love. She needs answers.

Answers and that beautiful sound of _Acapulco_ snapping inside of her.


	8. Neither Honey Nor Bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so here’s the thing. This was a difficult chapter to write, especially in the midst of all this “Queen Bee” stuff going on. I needed to make Chloe’s inherent problems very very clear, because there needed to be some sort of catalyst for everything that comes afterwards. That being said, it’s a very complicated issue, hence why this entire fic is from her point of view in the first place. Chloe’s still really broken up about the entire Acapulco thing, more than she even realizes, and she’s developed very unrealistic standards she expects other people to meet as an attempt to try and keep herself safe.  
> But, also, you’re going to get why this needed to happen, why I even introduced Nicola as a character in the first place, and you’re going to see all the ways this changes things so like. Just bear with me, okay.   
> And also I sincerely apologize for the really really long wait. This chapter was actually finished like about a month ago, but I just needed to let it sit and kind of figure out some things going on in my own life. So thank you for waiting. Happy new year. <3

_“Neither honey nor bee for me_.”

-Sappho

 

 

_The Rose Garden_ is not a place one would normally think to find Chloe Bourgeois. Still, if someone looked back far enough into the history of the coffee shop’s customers, they would find a long list of various people with the Bourgeois family name occasionally stopping by and bringing guests. It’s seclusion and great food borders on an old family secret.

“See?” Chloe asks, indignant, as she points a lilac gel nail at the swooping black signature at the bottom of the page, dated September 5th, 1984. “It’s her.”

“Hmm, are you sure?” Nicola gets closer to the paper. “All I’m seeing are scribbles.”

“You know, I think those glasses may be defective, _darling_ , because that definitely says _Bourgeois._ See, there’s even a _B._ ”

Her girlfriend shoves her slightly with her royal blue _Gabriel_ handbag. “My eyes are _fine._ Your mom just had terrible handwriting.”

“You take that back!”

Nicola’s face is suddenly _very_ close to hers. “Make me.” Her eyes hold a challenge that Chloe’s just about to consider taking when- “Excuse me, Miss Bourgeois,” a hurried hostess in red peers over the wooden stand at them. “Your table is ready.”

Chloe immediately steps back, suddenly worried that anyone saw them and got the wrong idea. Well, not the _wrong_ idea, but the… It doesn’t matter. It. Doesn’t. Matter. _Screw. What. They. Think._

Nicola links her arm in hers, unfazed by the interruption, as the hostess leads them to a small circular wooden table next to the large windows that overlook the garden. They’re wide open in the summer air, and Chloe thinks she spots a butterfly somewhere beyond their frames, but it’s gone in a split second.

They sit down on opposite sides and Nicola immediately starts perusing the menu. “You don’t need to bother with that silly little thing, you know,” she tells her girlfriend. “I already _know_ the best dishes in the house.”

“I’m sure you do,” she smiles at her in that way that lets Chloe know she’s just humoring her. “But I think you can learn a lot about the character of a place from what they have on their menu, don’t you think?”

“The _character_ of it? Who cares about the _character_? It’s either top-tier food or it’s not.”

Nicola laughs, mauve lips curving up at the edges. “It’s a _cafe_ , B. I wouldn’t say it needs to be _top tier._ ”

“But it _is,_ ” she insists. “I’ve checked. Their summer salads are absolutely to _die for_. Once you’ve eaten here you’ll forget all about that crummy food at the hotel.”

“I thought you said your father hired the best chefs in the world?”

“Oh, he does,” Chloe assures her. “I just have better taste than he does.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

 

 

*.*.*

 

 

Nicola _does_ order the summer salad, but she also orders a platter of lemon cakes, which Chloe’s had before, and they were really _adequate_ at best, but she doesn’t bother her about it _too much_.

What she does bother her about, however, is the book. That piece of literature that’s consumed Chloe’s brain ever since Adrien brought it up. It has to have answers, it _has to._ Monsieur Agreste or the author or _whoever_ wrote the stupid thing must have known her mother, because he _must_ have been in the highest levels of society, or else, why would he even be _trusted_ with such valuable information? She certainly knows she wouldn’t have been if she was some… _peasant_ like her other classmates. They’re so oblivious.

And, if he knew her mother, then he might have known where she went or how she got there or who helped her along the way, and then Chloe can track them down and scream at them until… Until… She’s not quite sure what the plan is after the screaming. But there _will_ be screaming. Lots of it. Red-faced, bug-eyed sweet-as-honey _screaming_ until she gets what she wants, whatever it is, because that’s the only way to do _anything_ , right?

It’s the only way she’s ever gotten anything she’s wanted around here. Except, she thinks, Nicola. Nicola involved absolutely no screaming.

But Nicola’s an exception. She’s a fox, a trickster, a bender of the rules. Surely if she can bend the world with just a few notes of her flute she can do the same with the laws of Chloe’s universe. Nicola means nothing. Except Nicola _doesn’t_ mean nothing, because she means _everything_ , and she’s sitting across from her with just the smallest bit of lemon cake on her cheek and all Chloe wants is to reach over and brush it off.

Chloe doesn’t. She sits silent in her seat, still as free and bound as ever by so many things. That guy in the booth to the right who’s so _obviously_ a reporter just _begging_ to snag a picture of something interesting. The twelve year old at the table outside with Snapchat open, who could accidentally catch something. Oh, right, and that _Alya_ girl over in the corner.

She did a blog post the other night accusing her of blackmailing the heroes of Paris. _As if_. It’s not _Chloe’s_ fault everyone wants to hang out with her; it’s just because… Chloe doesn’t know _why_ they want to, but it’s certainly _not_ blackmail. _Ha._ If Alya ever figured out _anything_ about the way the world really works, she’s fairly certain she wouldn’t want to be a journalist anymore.

“So,” she prods, “Did you talk to that Fu guy yet about the book?”

“I don’t know what you and Adrien want me to say.” Nicola pushes the lettuce around in her yellow bowl. “It’s not like I can just be like ‘Hey, can I borrow that book you keep locked in your china cabinet? My girlfriend wants to read it.’”

“Why can’t you?”

“Did you not just hear me?” The lettuce moves to the other side of the bowl. “What part of that sounds like a reasonable request?”

Chloe sighs. “It doesn’t have to be _reasonable_ , ‘Cola. You just have to be _persistent._ ”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. And, anyway, if anyone’s supposed to have that book, it’s him. Not Gabriel Agreste or Adrien or…”

“Or _me?_ ”

Nicola puts her fork down. The noise it makes is a little too loud. “Come on, B. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Chloe says. “But you know what? Now I’m curious. Why _exactly_ am I not supposed to have that book?”

“Because it’s not _yours_!”

She snorts. “Not like that’s ever stopped me before.”

“Wow, okay. You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?”

Nicola’s put down all her food, now. Her left eyebrow is raised in a way that isn’t exactly _teasing_. Chloe tentatively puts down her own fork. “Of _course_ I’m committed to this! This might be the _only_ thing that can tell me why my mother left!”

“So _that’s_ what this is all about?” she asks. “Nothing else?”

She tucks one arm under another, hands suddenly cold. “No. Why? Is that not a good enough reason to take that _precious_ _book_ for you?”

She stares at her for a long second, dark eyes narrowing, lips pursed tentatively. “No,” she says, a final wave of a red flag in front of Chloe’s eyes. “It’s not.”

She’s angry now, this screaming, aching _rage_ bubbling up inside of her like a chocolate fountain. It’s loud and ugly and she can hear the terrible white-noise sound it’s making as it pushes its way around the back of her ears and into her brain.

She should be _enough._ Is her wanting something - _needing_ something - not enough? Does she not see how much she needs this? How close she is to falling apart without this? Who cares what the collateral damage is when Chloe can just wave her name like a magic wand and have it all disappear? The only collateral damage that _needs_ to be considered is almost too-old, sitting in the pit of her stomach like food gone bad. She needs this. She needs this. She _needs this_. Because who is she supposed to be without it?

“You have to understand, B,” Nicola starts, but Chloe’s not listening anymore. She’s trying to focus in on something, _anything_ to keep from exploding in front of all these people, in front of _Alya_. She doesn’t need people _knowing_ the laws of her universe. The laws that Nicola apparently now exists in.

She doesn’t love her enough. And Chloe was stupid enough to think that she might.

She zeroes in on the television across the room, near the door. Some news reporter, with the most _hideous_ toupee, is giving a report on another akuma attack. _Whoop dee doo_ , Chloe thinks. He should really be less concerned with the carnage and more concerned with finding a better hairstylist. Then maybe his outlook on the world wouldn’t be so bleak.

Chloe runs her fingers through her own hair, pushing her front locks back so she can really drive the point home to Nicola that she no longer cares about what she has to say. It’s a lie, but she’s very good at lying with body language, has been good at it for years now. A well-placed eye roll or casual smirk can do wonders to keep people from prying into her real feelings. It’s not enough today, though. She still feels about to burst with just how much everything _hurts._ Brushing her off isn’t going to feel good enough. She needs some sort of control over this, she needs to scream.

“You can’t do this!” It’s not a scream, but a series of quiet, sharp words. Chloe manages to contain herself enough to do at least that much.

Nicola, whose eyes had also been wandering towards the television while she was talking, suddenly snaps back to attention, a frown on her face. “I _can’t_? Tell me, what exactly is it that I can’t do? Tell you no?”

Chloe snaps.

“You can’t just say no to my one chance at happiness and expect me to _understand_ and then leave me just like she did! You know, I really thought you _cared_ about my happiness, about me becoming a _good person_ and all that crap but I guess I was wrong!”

“Chloe…” her voice is surprisingly calm as she rifles through her purse, looking for something. “You should know by now that that’s _not_ it. That’s _never_ been it. I don’t care if you-”

“Oh, so now you don’t _care_?”

“Chloe, I have to _go_.”

She places her debit card down and stands up, but Chloe’s not done with her yet. She follows her all the way out the door and into the street, still not quite believing what’s happening, still desperate to change it. She still needs to do _something._

Chloe’s fingers hook onto Nicola’s arm. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. It’s some last-ditch effort to keep her from leaving. “You can’t just…

She turns, _finally_ with a reaction, and Chloe thought she wanted it, but her eyes are so angry they pierce every cavity of her heart.

“That’s the thing, Chloe!” Nicola yells and people across the street start to glance at them. “ _You_ can’t! You can’t just use that as an excuse anymore! Look at Adrien! Look at _me_! You can’t pretend selfish actions are good ones anymore! Because if they were, you wouldn’t hate yourself because you’ve spent years of your life thinking your mother left you for _fucking Acapulco!”_

A siren goes off. Red noise fills the streets. Chloe doesn’t know if she’d be able to think of a response to that without the sirens but she certainly can’t think of one _with_ them. They’re annoying and terrible and pesky and no one wants her around. A fitting background for the occasion, really.

“I have to go.” Volpina says, and the shake of her head breaks Chloe’s heart. A tiny fox tail waves out from the inside of her leather jacket.

She leaves Chloe in the street, feeling selfish and broken. So mostly usual.

And then, something happens. Something almost like fate.

 

 

*.*.*

 

 

Her eyes are so blurry that she can’t totally see where she’s going, but, to be honest, she doesn’t _care_ ; she just needs to get away from that spot and that place and that talk and that…

So they’re over now. Probably. Definitely. That’s fantastic. Adrien’s going to have a big surprise coming. Or maybe he already knows. He probably hates her too, or, at the very least, doesn’t love her enough. No one seems to love her quite enough these days. Oh, sure, they _say_ they do, but there’s always that _one_ line they won’t cross for. Is it really so wrong to want someone to _burn cities_ for you? Someone who would take those punches you couldn’t? Someone who would love you enough?

Sabrina would love her enough. Maybe. But Sabrina’s gone now, off somewhere in Ireland at some _stupid_ riding camp. She could’ve gone with her, sure, but she had more important things to do. Important things like fooling herself into thinking she could finally have answers. Important stupid things like that.

Chloe goes to wipe her nose with her hand, hoping all the people who seem to be running in the opposite direction that she’s walking don’t recognize her. It would be just her luck if they did. Another failure on her part. Her father would _kill_ her…

Why couldn’t he be a _normal_ father? Who got married and stayed married and loved her unconditionally and actually gave a shit about her every now and then beyond just her _honor._ Sure, he’d come rushing over quick if he heard someone insulted her, but have an akuma in her room for a week and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. No telling what he’d even _say_ if she told him the truth about her and Nicola. He’d probably say it’s a good thing it ended so soon.

Isn’t that what he’d said about her mother? That it was a _good thing_? What kind of father would possibly do that? Insinuate that a child losing their parent was a _good_ thing? He’s just as much of a monster as she is. At least everyone knows what they’re getting into with her, though. She’d rather be what she is than some deceiving, conniving, _asshole_ of a politician. She already tried that. Saw how well it worked for her. She’s not a good enough actress to pull that off.

Chloe wishes her dad was like… for instance… that little old man over there. She bets he’d like watch a movie with his daughter every now and then. She bets she could tell him about her and Nicola and all the terrible things she wants right now. All the terrible things she wanted. She wouldn’t even mind if her father was the type of guy to wear terrible Hawaiian florals like that. At least he wouldn’t be living a lie.

_Ugh_. She bets it’s not just her mother’s fault she’s the way she is. He’s got to have played a giant role in that too, when he’s spent the past few years rubbing his image all over hers to the point she’s not even sure she’s a person anymore. At the very least she’s not a _good_ person anymore. A _gorgeous_ person, sure, but not even remotely good.

Nicola had known what she was getting into, though. No false pretenses there. And she was wrong, then, because secret identities may be Ladybug and Chat Noir’s problem, but it certainly wasn’t theirs. Theirs was that Nicola didn’t love her _enough._ All she ever wanted was _enough-_

“Hey!” Chloe shouts, suddenly on the ground, pads of her hands all scraped up from the concrete. “Watch where you’re going!”

The man in the Hawaiian shirt widens his eyes. “ _Both of us_ should have been watching where we were going, I’ll admit that.” He has a little twinkle in his left eye that Chloe thinks does _not_ fit the situation at all. “To be fair, we _are_ in a crisis.”

“What crisis?” Chloe asks. “The crisis of bad florals?”

He squints at her, as if she’s a cat and he’s trying to determine her breed. “Have you not seen the news?”

“Oh, right,” she shrugs. “The akuma. Whoop dee doo. Let’s all run and scream. Not like this happens every day…”

“My dear,” the man in bad Hawaiian print says. “This is no ordinary akuma. Half of Paris has been taken down already. And no, not with a case of bad florals. Some poor soul has been cursed with the power of aging. For young kids like you, it’s not quite so bad, but for an old soul like me…”

He motions behind him and Chloe’s eyes widen as she spots a middle aged man begin to hunch over, groaning from a sudden pain in his back that must not have been there before. “Oh…” she starts. “I didn’t realize-”

“It’s no problem, dear,” he assures her. “Sometimes the hardest things to see can be right in front of us. However, I do have a little guy at home who I promised I’d bring _this_ to.” He shakes a paper bag she hadn’t realized he was holding. “And I’d hate to get caught up in all this.”

Chloe’s not sure why, but suddenly she can picture it clearly; some poor kid, barely even five years old, waiting all alone as akuma sirens blare around him, scared but still not quite understanding of why.

“I completely understand-” she stutters, unclear of why she’s so immediate to back down to him, not even bothering to make him give her whatever’s in that bag like she usually would. “You should go-”

Out of the very corner of her eye, Chloe spots a blur of motion. Bright colors come dashing towards them, and she immediately acts without thinking, shoving the old man out of the way and running headfirst towards the blur. When it touches her shoulder, it knocks the wind out of her.

“I am Father Time!” the akuma yells as Chloe tries to find her balance, “And your age is my command!”

Whoever Father Time used to be looks about Chloe’s age, maybe a little bit older. He’s all blue on his left side and all red on his right, divided in the middle by a striking white beard that looks like it might be made out of of some sort of paper. Not the most terrifying akuma she’s ever encountered - there _was_ that time they were all turned into harlequins, after all, but something sinister lurks under his surface.

And then she feels it, crawling under her skin and away from the spot where he’d touched her. Chloe tries to take a deep breath, but can’t quite manage it. Her shoulder aches with a long and cold kind of pain. Wanting an answer for her new condition, her eyes shoot over to the old man, but he’s stepped back a little bit now, nearly hidden behind a black lamp post.

When she looks back at her shoulder to check if it’s bleeding because _really, this should not hurt this much_ , she sees it, lurking just under the sleeve of her white off-the-shoulder top. This time she actually does scream.

“ _OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?”_ Her voice breaks on the last word, because she really should’ve realized what was happening sooner. Suddenly stopping his pursuit of the Hawaiian shirt guy, he turns back to her, a wicked smile crossing his face.

A turn of his head and his long beard hits her like a whip, knocking her onto the ground. Three large steps and he’s standing over her, so close she can see her reflection in his plastic glossy red and blue skin, can watch as the grace of her collarbone succumbs to his aging magic, how the skin sags and the glow fades and her purple veins begin to pop. It’s spreading, slowly, like poison. Or a plague.

“Well, you’re a very pretty victim.” His breath is hot on her face. It smells like prune juice. “Suppose this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to a girl like you.”

“ _YOU JUST WAIT UNTIL MY FATHER HEARS ABOUT THIS!”_ Chloe shrieks, hoping maybe her shrill voice might just burst one of his shiny ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the old man from earlier continue to sneak away. _Go_ , she mouths to him, and he nods.

It’s better this way anyway; he would have disintegrated long before she would, and she’s not sure even Ladybug can reverse death. He has a family to get back to, after all. If she’s stuck this way she might as well make sure no one else has to be. No one else should have to have an _Acapulco._

Father time chuckles, voice raspier than she’d first realized. “Your father’s not going to hear anything from you anytime soon. Not while I’m here.”

He takes another step closer, and Chloe writhes on the pavement. Her attempt to escape him is stopped, however by the utter weakness of her shoulder. “ _HE’S THE MAYOR, YOU KNOW!”_ she informs him at a volume that _should_ shatter glass. “ _HE COULD HAVE YOU ARRESTED!”_

The akuma’s butterfly-gated eyes darken. “Ahh, so _you’re_ Bourgeois’ little brat. I should’ve realized. Let me update you on some policy then,” he starts, fingertip brushing up her other arm, causing fatigue to spread from the origin, “no one’s allowed to be arrested for crimes committed while akumatized, pretty princess. I’m… _exempt_ from punishment for _whatever_ I do to you.”

Chloe shudders, and even that little bit of movement hurts. She’s worried about her heart, now that it’s being surrounded on both sides by the wrinkles and the pain. If it’s beat slows too much…

Black and red blurs begin to dot the corner of her eyes. “ _YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS, YOU WON’T!”_ she insists, even though she knows it may be a lost cause. She’s not beloved, not like Ladybug or even _Marinette_ ; no one’s going to care if an akuma disintegrates her.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, and the end of his long prickly beard brushes her ankles. “And who’s going to stop me?”

Bright eyes smirk at him from under messed up blonde hair. “We are.”

“LUCKY CHARM!” someone yells from behind Chloe, and she doesn’t think she’s _ever_ been so relieved to hear that voice.

Chat Noir smiles one of his signature cheshire cat smiles at her before sweeping his staff through the air between Chloe and her attacker, knocking him back into the wall of a shop. Ladybug soars over her, yo-yo latching onto the lamp post the old man was hiding behind earlier, and Chloe could swear she shoots her a smile. Father Time screams, suddenly sounding quite young again. He braces for impact only for her to go right through him.

An illusion. That means…

Chloe looks up at the rooftops, where she sees Volpina’s familiar crouched form, a flute held up to her bright orange lips. They make eye contact and the fox’s melody stutters. Chloe immediately looks away, all the sadness from earlier returning.

The real ladybug then runs at him from the side, red and black polka-dotted feather quill in hand, and stabs it into his chin. A black butterfly erupts from the mass of papers that makes up his beard, and Chat Noir quickly bounces on it, capturing it in his paws. Ladybug joins him, and white light envelops the whole street.

Chloe shuts her eyes tight to the light, and finds them swollen and on the edge of tears. She feels so helpless on the ground like this, even with Ladybug’s light surrounding her.

She opens her eyes and finds her body back to normal. Nothing aches anymore - at least, nothing that hadn’t ached before she ran into the akuma; her heart’s still pretty sore - and her skin is soft and tight again, her hair returned to its golden shade of blonde.

The three heroes stand over her, but she can’t even look at them. Each of them seems so much bigger than her now, even Adrien with his banana-peel hair. They’re towering monuments to a world she still doesn’t understand - a world where she has little to no power. Nicola was wrong; her and Adrien _aren’t_ something for Chloe to realistically achieve, because they’re superhuman. They’re super strong and super smart and super kind and they’re all so beautiful, especially with the setting sun behind them.

Chloe’s not any of those things. She’s terrified and shaky and lying in the street, absent of one heel that must have come off when she’d first fallen down.

The superheroes turn their attentions to the de-akumatized man. Chloe can’t look at him either. She knows that technically, by law, she’s not supposed to hold things against people who were akumatized, but she’s _been there._ She doesn’t remember most of it, but she remembers that anger, and she knows that it existed long before the butterflies consumed her. There was nothing she did that she didn’t, in her soul, _want_ to do. And, no matter what a “good guy” this student is, he has all that capacity inside his soul, just like she does. It makes her feel sick.

She moves to stand, ignoring the leather-clad hands that reach out to try and help her. Chloe brushes her hands off on her clothes and pulls out her phone. She doesn’t want to talk to _any of them_ right now.

“Are you calling your father?” the guy that once was Father Time asks shakily. Chloe pretends she didn’t hear. “What’s he going to do? _Arrest me?_ ”

Yep, there it is, the same hatred that got him into this mess in the first place. She clutches her phone tighter, and begins to walk away. Then, changing her mind, she spits an answer at him. “You know he can’t do that.”

He laughs, weakly, but it still does something to her insides. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you don’t wish he could. You must feel so helpless…”

Chloe shoots him her worst glare and he shuts up. She doesn’t know what he’s like without that evilness inside of him, but she doesn’t want to find out. And he’s right; she does wish he could be arrested. But her father’s not going to care, not when no one recorded any of this, not when it’s not blasting out on the television screens and hurting either of their reputations.

Even if it was, he probably would have taken her aside after the press conference about the _purity of his only daughter_ and told her she should’ve left the old man to die. _Ha._ Like he would ever understand.

She’s not even sure she understands why she took the hit for him. She knows it has something to do with her own situation, but Chloe’s never been the most empathetic person. She doesn’t even _know_ him, _or his son._ For all she knows, he could’ve been lying.

Maybe it had more to do with feeling like she deserved it. Looks like Nicola’s words got to her after all.

“I’m leaving,” she announces, to no one in particular, and she’s not surprised when no one answers her. For a moment, Chat Noir looks like he means to follow, but he quickly draws his hands back under Ladybug’s gaze.

The two of them hold a battle with their eyes, green on blue. Nicola meets Chloe’s eye, as if to show her she was right, but then she seems to remember their fight. Chloe tightens her jaw to keep herself from showing her feelings about _any of this._

She walks away before their staring contest is finished, not really caring who won. If Adrien wants to talk to her, he should be able to do it on his own. She doesn’t blame him for wanting Ladybug’s approval, though: she would too.

Chloe takes her second heel off once she turns the corner, not wanting to go back and get her first one. She can just buy another pair. No one’s really going to notice. Also, her hip was beginning to ache.

The concrete is warm on her feet in the summer heat, but she doesn’t really feel it. Her driver doesn’t comment on her lack of shoes when he pulls up. He does ask where Nicola is, though.

“Gone,” Chloe answers. “Just like everyone else.”

“Would you like me to talk to your father?”

She frowns and digs her nails into her palm. “Don’t bother. He never met her, anyway.”

 

 

*.*.*

 

 

When Chloe gets to her room, she falls onto her mattress immediately, suddenly exhausted. She stares at her fan for a good half an hour - until she’s appropriately dizzy for the occasion. It gives off an all-consuming kind of hum, and she lets it fill her ears and mind until everything goes numb.

Then, she sees something out of the corner of her eye. Something that wasn’t there before. A small gold box sits on her dresser, covered in a honeycomb pattern, like the tiles in her bathroom. Chloe sits up, slowly, not taking her eyes off of it for a second for fear that it’s going to disappear.

She’s not sure what exactly draws her towards it. She can’t think of anyone who would have sent it to her; no one loves her enough for that today. Still, it almost seems to be glowing in the fading afternoon light. She wants to open it. She _needs_ to open it.

Chloe steps forward, takes the box in her hands, and opens the latch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Heavy and weird. And things get kind of... intense? next level? from here. I promise I'll try my very best to work on the next chapter and update at a reasonable time. But, in the meantime, thank you to you all for reading and supporting this fic!


	9. Gossamer Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe learns to fly. Adrien quotes the Bee Movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever! I know!  
> It's been forever because I just for the life of me could not figure out how I wanted the team dynamic to be (which is gonna be a super important part from here on out) but last night's episode got the gears in my mind turning and now here we are, 9 months later. Someone probably had a baby in that time. Oh well.  
> Thanks for reading! Go watch the new eps!  
> #PredictingAcapulcoSince2016

_“Fairies with gossamer wings / Bring forth beauty, grace and joyful things”_

-Molly Friedenfeld

Pollen is, first and foremost, the worst.

That’s Chloe’s first impression, there, she said it. Stuck somewhere in between the _oh my god I’m gonna be a superhero_ and _oh my god I can fly_ is the realization that this little fuzzy yellow thing floating in front of her telling her about her magical duty or whatever is the actual worst.

She’s Despair Bear on steroids. A constant reminder of her failures as a person while also being annoyingly optimistic. Chloe almost wishes she’d gotten stuck with Plagg instead. Sure, he constantly smells like the moldy, rotting cheese that she knows he’s stashed somewhere under Adrien’s bed (how he can’t smell it is beyond her), but at least he didn’t sound like a jazzercise instructor from the eighties.

Still, she goes to bed with a smile on her makeup-free face. She stares up at the fan above her bed and, for the first time in years, recognizes the little star stickers Adrien had stuck up there when they were kids, sparkling behind the blades. The world is hot but right now it’s not bugging her.

Chloe falls asleep to the buzz of Pollen’s snores.

 

 

*.*.*

 

 

She awakes, bright and early, to a beeping comb. The beautiful golden hairpin shrieks like a crying baby. _Skree! Skree! Skree!_ The sun has barely risen, but Chloe jumps up. She pulls her hair into a ponytail and shoves the comb in there before realizing she has absolutely no idea how to like… activate her powers.

She may or may not have been paying all that much attention the night before.

She looks over to Pollen, who is smirking with a smug upturned lip. “What do I say?”

“What _do_ you say?”

See. The Worst.

“What do I say to become a hero? I wanna fly off of the roof! I wanna soar like a bird!”

Pollen shakes her head. “Like a _bee_ , darling. Soar like a _bee_. There’s a magic phrase you have to say.”

“Yeah. I know,” Chloe rolls her eyes. “What is it?”

“What do you say?”

At this point Chloe is about frustrated enough to just jump off her balcony herself and hope her impending death is enough to get Pollen to stop messing with her. “THAT’S WHAT I’M TRYING TO ASK YOU!”

Pollen laughs. “No, darling. What’s the magic word?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a Teddy Bear winks at her.

“Oh,” Chloe says. “ _That_ magic word. I forgot about that.”

“I had a suspicion.” Pollen looks at her expectantly. “Go ahead.”

“Could you _please_ tell me whatever the hell it is that I say to fly off of this balcony and help those poor unfortunate souls save themselves?”

“Baby steps,” Pollen mutters.

“Okay! _Baby Steps!_ ” Chloe waits for a transformation to happen, for her to lift off of the ground and sprout wings. Nothing happens.

Pollen groans. “No, no. That wasn’t- Nevermind, darling. The key words are: _Buzz Off._ ”

Chloe smiles, and she thinks her cheeks might break. It’s so perfect. Absolutely and totally perfect.

“ _Buzz Off!_ ”

It’s the fog that overtakes her first. Not in reality, but in her mind. Something slightly yellow fills her mind and she can feel her eyes gloss over. Chloe’s vision shifts out of focus for a second as something akin to ribbon begins to entangle first her arms and then her legs, spiraling all the way to her toes.

And then there’s the wings. They’re small, like wearing children’s dress up clothes. They buzz and hum from where they burst from her shoulderblades. Chloe feels the weight of a whole world slip off of her shoulders.

When the world shifts into focus again, she realizes she’s floating. Hovering a few feet off the ground, toes covered by a shimmery synthetic boot.

She turns to her balcony, the same balcony so many superheroes have been on before, and jumps off.

If you’d asked her before today, Chloe would’ve said she’s never thought about the feeling of climbing up the table out there, putting one foot and then another on the metal gating, and just jumping.

There’s a reason, though, why she does it so instinctually.

 

*.*.*

 

 

She’s late to the fight, as she thought she’d be, and Chloe would reprimand Pollen but she… can’t. There isn’t as much of a difference in this state between her and the yellow fuzzball of constant annoyance. Pollen is the wings on her back, the comb in her hair, the weight missing from her shoulder tendons.

For once in her life, Chloe’s anger is left targetless.

And then there’s Ladybug. And Volpina. And Chat Noir with his stupid stupid banana peel hair. They’re sparring with an akuma that looks vaguely like the man who brings post to the Agreste mansion every day. They’re fighting hard, but Chloe can just tell it isn’t enough from the many many akuma fights she’s seen.

She scans the scene with honeycombed vision, finds a weak spot, and flicks her trompo straight at it. The yellow weapon unravels at the speed of sound, and a trail of glowing energy rises in its wake. It hits the akuma right under his ribcage. He grunts in anger.

Immediately, Chat Noir and Ladybug stop what they’re doing and turn to look at her. Volpina keeps going, not looking at her. Chloe wonders if she can recognize her, if Nicola’s desire to ignore her goes beyond their civilian selves.

“Who are you?” Ladybug yells. Something like pride swells in Chloe’s gut.

She winks and salutes them. “Queen Bee at your service!” Then she recoils her trompo and aims it again. The akuma trips a bit over the trail of light, but catches himself.

“What are you all doing just standing around?” This time it’s Chloe’s turn to yell. “Don’t we have an akuma to fight?”

“ _We_ do,” Volpina says, but still declines to look at her. “We don’t know if we can trust _you,_ however.”

Chloe rolls her eyes at the irony. Wasn’t her whole point of coming here because Ladybug and Chat Noir wouldn’t trust new people?

“I say we give her a chance.” Ladybug smiles at Chloe and she can feel her heart rate rush in time with the beating of her wings. “After all,” she tells Volpina. “We gave you one.”

 

 

*.*.*

 

 

The fight does not go exactly all that well. It drags on. Longer than it should with four people. Chloe’s still uncertain about most of her powers. She throws her trompo at the wrong angles. The four of them jump and run into each other, not yet used to a larger team.

Eventually, though, they destroy the akuma with Ladybug’s light. And then promptly run off when all of their devices start beeping.

Chloe checks her comb. It’s not beeping. She wonders if there’s something wrong, only to realize that she has _more time_. Coming late gave her something after all. She surveys the streets around her only to see a familiar Hawaiian shirt round the corner.

She follows him, wings beating, heart still racing from Ladybug’s probably undeserved trust in her. The man in the Hawaiian shirt is holding something. Gabriel Agreste’s book. Bound just as she remembers. This man, the man who she’d saved, must be _Fu._ That Fu. The Fu Nicola wouldn’t let her steal from.

Chloe can feel the gears in her mind turning, but no conclusion follows. Instead, she stalks him from street to street, needing to get her hands on that book. The book that might have all the answers.

He enters a massage shop, with an ornately carved wooden door. Chloe peeks inside to see a large room divider, a suspiciously beautiful gramophone, and a series of wooden cupboards with flowers carved into them. Fu unlocks the cabinets with an intricate amount of key moving and locks the book back inside.

Chloe doesn’t think she could remember the order of the keys if she tried, but now, at least, she knows where it is.

Still, this guy chose her. He thought she was worthy of these wings, of this second chance. Is it really right if she repays that favor by taking his book from him?

_Life isn’t fair,_ Chloe thinks. _Mom leaving wasn’t fair. It’s his fault for putting so much faith in someone he barely knows._

She doesn’t take the book, though. Not right then. Instead, she listens to the fading beeping of her comb, and falls back into the alleyway around the corner.

As the honey-scented fog of being Queen Bee falls away from her and Pollen reappears, Chloe feels that weight return. First on her shoulders then on her heart. The joy she’d felt from Ladybug fades too, dripping slowly, agonizingly, away until all that’s left is that hollowness from the other day.

Immediately, she craves the sensation of flight again, but Pollen looks exhausted.

Chloe sighs. “Let me take you home,” she says, and she cups her kwami in the palm of her hand. She walks with her all the way to the Lourve and then waits for her driver to come pick her up.

It’s only later, when she’s sitting on plush leather and watching the city pass by her window, that she realizes she’s still barefoot. Still in her pajamas. Still with no makeup and messy bedhead.

Chloe groans and hopes no one saw her.

 

 

*.*.*

 

 

The first thing she notices when she wakes up is the burning in her legs. Like the age spreading through her the other day, but different. It twinges and fades and comes back. She can see, she can breathe, but can’t quite feel right.

“Exercise will do that,” Pollen offers in explanation. Chloe groans.

“I didn’t think it would affect me in real life!” she complains. “It’s not like I can do those flips without the suit on!”

“There’s a period of training,” Pollen tells her. “Where your skills in the field and your skills out of the field aren’t equal. The purpose of your pain right now, darling, is so that your muscles learn how to do those flips without the suit on too.”

“Why, though? It’s not like I’m fighting anyone with like _Kung Fu_ when I’m lounging around the hotel.”

Pollen’s face falls serious. “It’s going to get harder,” she warns. “More dangerous. Your civilian selves need to know how to fight too. Just in case.”

Chloe makes a face. “In case of _what_?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

She’s about to press her further when a familiar pair of black pleathered legs land on her carpet. Chat Noir smiles when he sees her and then Adrien smiles too, the black cat fading away.

He promptly runs over and tackle-hugs her.

“According to all known laws of aviation,” Adrien starts, cheshire grin beginning to consume his entire face. “There is no way that a Chloe should be able to fly…”

Chloe groans and pushes her head into her pillow. “Is this your fun idea of waking me up?”

“Well,” he replies, “ _I’m_ having a lot of fun with it.”

She pushes down on her mattress, trying to lift herself up so he might _get off of her_ , but her arms are suddenly engulfed in the pain of a thousand bee stings. She gives up. “Does it always hurt this much?”

Adrien stands up. “At first, yeah. It wasn’t fun. I told my dad I was just practicing fencing more but… yeah. I wish I could say it gets better.”

Chloe groans again at the thought of more of this, of waking up like this every day for who knows how long.

“Chlo, though! You can _fly_!”

Chloe frowns. “You don't know that that was me.”

Adrien looks her dead in the eyes. “Chloe, I’ve known you my entire life. You put yourself in my phone as _Queen B_. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Suddenly, there’s a prickliness behind the pain. Something anxious buzzes in her gut.

“How do you feel about it?” Chloe asks, tentative.

Adrien bursts into another smile. “You deserve it, Chlo. You deserve it so so much. You look- I haven’t seen you look this happy Ladybug-absent in so long.”

Despite the pain, Chloe can feel what he’s talking about. “Yeah…” she says. “I am, I think. I like feeling like I earned something. Like it’s mine.” She frowns. “What does Ladybug think?”

Adrien nods. “She’s… unsure,” he says. “You did a good job, for a newbie. The last Volpina freaked us out, though, Chlo, you’ve gotta understand that. And… another addition to the team wasn’t exactly in Nicola’s contract.”

“So she doesn’t know it’s me?”

“Nope. Good thing, too, considering… It’s just. Her last Ladybug and Chat Noir- They never had another team member. She isn’t exactly an expert at fighting with four if you didn’t notice.”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says. “I thought she did a good job. It was me that was mostly messing up.” She then sits up immediately. “Don’t you dare tell anyone I said that, though! Let the record show I did an amazing job!”

Adrien ignores the second part of her statement. “Well,” he says, “Beauty is in the eye of the Bee Holder.”

Chloe throws a pillow at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for bearing with this first chapter. I promise there's more (if there wasn't I wouldn't have put the reveal so early). There's a lot of story ahead and I'm really excited to bring you along with me.  
> I'd also like to note that this was inspired by some really great Chloe art done by yahoberries on tumblr. link is here: http://yahoberries.tumblr.com/post/140770179036


End file.
